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“Didn’t exaggerate, did I?” he went on (page 227) 




A MODERN TRIO IN AN 
OLD TOWN 


BY 

KATHARINE HAVILAND TAYLOR 

\ \ 

Author of “Real Stuff,’’ “Natalie Page,” 
“Barbara of Baltimore,” etc. 


i 

ILLUSTRATED 

BY 

MORGAN DENNIS 


/ 



NEW YORK 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY 





COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
HARCOURT, BRACK AND COMPANY, INC. 


\ 


» « - 

<> ' 


PRINTED IN THE U S A. BY 
THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY 
RAHWAY, N. J 



AUG 19 1822 V' 


©cue 77 9 0 3 *y lts ,T 


TO 

BONNIE BELL GUERNSEY 
AND 

JESSIE ELIZABETH GUERNSEY 
WITH A VERY GREAT DEAL OF MY LOVE 

































































































































































CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I Apprehensions 

II The End of One Journey and the Start 
of Another 

III Lunch and Some Modern History . 

IV Florence and the New Home . 

V New Friends, a New Day and New 

Plans 

VI Miss Parrish and Miss Harris-Clarke . 

VII Getting Acquainted 

VIII Signor Paggi’s Compliments . 

IX A Strolling Picnic 

X Cream Puffs, the Twilight and — 

XI Enter — Sam Deane! 

XII Dark Clouds 

XIII A Patch of Blue Sky .... 

XIV Stories, Music and Tea .... 

XV Florentine Winter 

XVI Plans for a Party 

XVII Cupid and a Lady Santa Claus 
XVIII The Effect of a Secret .... 

XIX Changes 

XX A Country Wedding and the Coming of 

Spring 

XXI Fiesole, a Clear Hot Day, and a Cool 

Garden 

XXII A Walk on a Sunday Afternoon . 

XXIII Mischievous Cupid 

XXIV Homeward Bound 


PAGH 

1 

8 

17 

27 

38 

46 

56 

68 

77 

94 

103 

117 

129 

139 

149 

159 

167 

182 

197 

208 

220 

238 

253 

261 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Didn’t exaggerate, did I?” he went on 

(page 227) Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

“Isn’t this simply ghastly?” 60 

“My name is Sam Deane,” he announced . . 110 

Mr. Hemmingway got so gay that he kissed Miss 

Meek 180 



A MODERN TRIO IN AN 
OLD TOWN 


CHAPTER ONE 
APPREHENSIONS 

A S I look back through my experience of 
eighteen years, I realize that many of my 
apprehensions have been foolish, because so many 
of the things that I dreaded turned out all right. 
Almost every one of the parties I thought would 
be stiff — and I am not very happy at the sort ! — 
proved to be the kind where every one grew lively. 
I remember one that Elaine McDonald had, par- 
ticularly, because I had said to mother, “I don’t 
want to go. They’ll all wear gloves and it will 
be miserable !” But I did go, and they had a Paul 
Jones that was so rough that they broke a chair 
and knocked over a table, and it was fine! While, 
on the other hand, there have been parties that 
I thought would be nice and informal, and we 
just went and sat in one place and talked, and at 
that sort I smile until my face feels as if it were 
covered with shellac, because I don’t feel like 


2 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


smiling at all. And this all shows — or it should, 
because I am trying to make it — that I never 
should take my apprehensions seriously. But — I 
seem to have to, and I always do, and so I felt as 
if I had real reason for misery, when Mrs. Ham- 
ilton, who had looked after me as I crossed the 
Atlantic upon the Steamship Carpatia y called me 
back into the stateroom and said, “By the way, 
child, I am not going to Florence, after all — ” 
Well, I shifted my weight from one foot to the 
other, which is what I often do while waiting. 

“But,” she went on, as she fussed with the 
little jars that contribute quite a lot toward her 
beauty, “I shall hunt up some one who is, and 
see that you are looked after.” 

“Thank you,” I said, and then I went back to 
the foot I had originally been standing on. 

“My friends, the Wiltons, want me to go to 
Mentone with them,” she stated as she picked 
up a little brush she has for her eyebrows and 
began to use it, “and their plans sound rather 
jolly, and so I’ve taken them up. . . . I’m really 
sorry not to see you entirely settled, but there’ll 
be some one on board who is going up, no doubt. ’ ’ 
“I suppose so,” I answered in a flat tone that I 
use while miserable. Then I wondered what in 
the world would happen if there was no one on 
board who was headed for Florence, because the 
only Italian I knew was, “La luna bella,” which 


APPREHENSIONS 


3 


is “The beautiful moon,” and I didn’t see what 
that would do on a railroad train, and especially 
since I was going to travel by day. 

“How do you say Florence in Italian ?” I asked, 
after I changed feet again. 

“Firenze,” Mrs. Hamilton responded, as she 
powdered the back of her hands, “and don’t 
worry, we’ll surely locate some one who will care 
for you — ” 

But that only half cheered me, because I had 
been but a day out of Boston when I realized that 
Mrs. Hamilton is like a lot of people who talk a 
good deal. She is a good promiser, and she prom- 
ises so much that she can’t do a third of all she 
intends to. Really the only thing she did do that 
she had forecast doing, was getting seasick, and 
she, herself, didn’t entirely cause that. A couple 
of days of rough weather helped her. 

However, to go back, I blamed her unjustly this 
time, for while I was idling around the deck after 
dinner, wishing that I had nothing on my mind 
to keep me from enjoying the salt tang in the air, 
and the pretty phosphorescent, silver lights that 
gleam in the water where the prow of the boat 
cuts it, she came toward me, and said she had 
found some one who would help me reach Flor- 
ence safely. 

“A Mr. Terrance Wake,” she said, “probably 
you’ve never heard of him, but he is rather noted. 


4 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


. . . Writes on art, all that sort of thing, and has 
a perfect love of a villa near Florence. . . . He 
says he’ll he delighted to he of any service to 
you — ” 

“Well, if he’ll just let me follow him, it’ll be 
all right,” I answered, and Mrs. Hamilton 
laughed. 

“Funny child,” she said, and then, “I must go 
in; I was dummy. . . . I’ll present Mr. Wake in 
th 7 e morning — ” 

After that she vanished in one of the bright-lit 
doorways from which came the energetic voices 
of people who were fondly telling each other that 
they had played the wrong card, and again I was 
alone. I felt better and I could breathe with more 
ease. Before she came I had felt as. if my lungs 
were a size too small for my breath. Being anx- 
ious always makes me feel that way. And I 
walked — around the deck I had learned so well — 
speaking to people as I passed them, exchanging 
plans, and promising to send post-cards. 

I was awake when Mrs. Hamilton came down 
to go to bed, which was unusual for me, for in- 
somnia is not one of my troubles, and I sat up 
in the berth to talk. 

“What’s Mr. Wake like?” I asked, as I leaned 
out and looked down. 

“Fascinating man,” she responded, “but fear- 
fully indifferent!” 


APPREHENSIONS 


5 


“Does lie smoke ?” I asked, for I had begun to 
get anxious again, and I had actually supposed 
up a bad awake-dream that had to do with his 
going off to smoke, and the train being broken 
up, and my being left in a strange country with 
nothing to help me but a remark about the 
moon. 

“I don’t know, Jane,” Mrs. Hamilton an- 
swered, with an easy little laugh. Then she added 
the “Funny child!” she says at me so often, and 
I lay back and stared up at the ceiling again. 

“You won’t forget to introduce us, will you?” 
I asked, as she switched off the lights. 

“Yo hum,” she yawned, deeply. “No, dear, 
certainly not! Now go to sleep, for you’ll have 
lots that’s new to see to-morrow. . . . ’Night.” 

“Good night,” I answered. . . . But I couldn’t 
take her advice about sleep, and in the dark I lay 
wide eyed, and half unhappy, which is, I suppose, 
silly to confess. . . . But I had never met a 
strange country before ; in fact, I had never been 
anywhere much before, and the whole experience 
was almost overpowering. And it was only after 
quite an hour of wakefulness that my eyes grew 
heavy and I began to dream. 

When I woke up it was morning, a bright, 
sunny, warm morning, and there were voices out- 
side which called in a way that was new to me; 
there were songs in the calls, even when they were 


6 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


angry. And the ship was still, so I knew that we 
must be in the harbor at Genoa. 

Because I was green — and still am and always 
will be ! — I went down to the bathroom, and ran 
a tub full of water, and then decided not to bathe, 
for no one but a mud turtle could have bathed in 
that sort of water ! It came right out of the har- 
bor! And so I contented myself with the wash- 
bowl instead — the water from that was all right — 
and then went back to my stateroom; dressed, 
closed my steamer trunk and my bag, and hurried 
in to breakfast. 

I found Mrs. Hamilton finishing hers, and she 
pointed out Mr. Wake to me. He sat at the Cap- 
tain’s table, and there was a beautiful woman de- 
voting herself in the most unselfish way to talking 
to him, and he ate all the time she did it, and 
only nodded! I felt certain then that my day 
would be a silent one ! However, that didn’t worry 
me. 

“Marvelous man,” Mrs. Hamilton sort of 
breathed out in a way she does. 

“He certainly can eat oat meal,” I answered, 
because that was the only thing I noticed about 
him. Mrs. Hamilton laughed — she does a great 
deal — and turned to tell a young man with a funny 
little mustache what I had said, and he laughed. 
Then Mrs. Hamilton got up, and hurried off, and 
I finished my breakfast. 


APPREHENSIONS 


7 


As I left the dining saloon, I heard her hail me, 
and I found that she had actually come back to 
see that I met Mr. Wake. 

“Mr. Wake!” she called, as he came toward us, 
“here is my little charge — ” Then she laughed, 
but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile, he 
just bowed from the waistline in a manner that 
was very impressive, and yet chilling. 

“And it is Miss Jones, whom I am to look out 
for?” he asked, in a sort of bored way. 

‘ ‘ J ane, ’ ’ I answered. ‘ ‘ I should think you could 
call me Jane, because you are so much older than 
I am — ” 

And then he did laugh. 

‘ ‘ Bully, ’ ’ he said, ‘ 6 1 will ! And look here, Jane, 
I say, you won’t talk Art to me, will you? Or 
quote my books?” 

“I didn’t know you wrote any until last night,” 
I answered, seriously, and again he laughed. I 
laughed too, but just to be sociable, because I 
didn’t see the joke. 

“We’ll have a fine day!” he said in the kindest 
and most enthusiastic manner, and I felt that we 
would too, but neither of us had any idea of how 
fine it would be, nor of all the many, many happy 
happenings it was to preface ! 


CHAPTER TWO 


THE END OF ONE JOURNEY AND THE START 
OF ANOTHER 

FTER I had said good-by to a great many 



JT \ . people, and walked down the shaking steps 
with canvas banisters that the sailors hang on the 
side of a ship, and stepped into a little tug as 
three Italians who wore blue uniforms screamed, 
“Attento! Attento!” I felt as if I were getting 
close to the end of my journey, and that the sur- 
prise pile must be getting low, for I couldn’t im- 
agine that things on land could keep on being so 
different. But they were, and after I landed, I 
felt as if the ship life, which had been a real 
change for me, had been only a mild preface. 

The harbor was rough, and getting in was quite 
hard, which I liked, and a great many of the women 
in the tug screamed and held on to the nearest 
man, and the Italian sailors called shrilly, and it 
was all very nice. 

1 1 Afraid ?” Mr. Wake asked of me. It was the 
first time he had spoken since he had thanked 
heaven that I had only one bag. 

“No,” I answered, “I like it. I kind of wish 


THE END OF ONE JOURNEY 


9 


it would go over — of course I wouldn’t want any 
one hurt, but I would like to write home about 
it—” 

“Stars!” said Mr. Wake. 

4 ‘Which one would you rescue?” I asked as I 
looked around. 

“None,” he answered shortly. 

Then I let conversation die, which is what I al- 
most always have to do when I can’t think of 
anything to say. I am not at all like my older 
sister Roberta, who is socially versed and can go 
right on talking, whether she has anything to talk 
about or not. Roberta is wonderfully clever, 
and talented and polished, and strangers can 
hardly believe we are sisters. But to get on, I 
didn’t mind the silence because I had so much to 
see. 

The town that cuddled against' the hills on the 
shore was getting closer and closer, and it was so 
interesting to see palm trees and such stuff that 
one associates with greenhouses, around the 
Statue of Columbus in a public square down in 
front of the town. 

“Like it?” Mr. Wake asked of me, after quite 
a long interval of silence. 

I nodded. 

“The Italian sun makes the shadows black, 
doesn’t it?” I questioned, lazily, for the day and 
the new sights made me feel half sleepy, “and 


10 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

the houses so white that you squint when you look 
at them,” I went on. “Just the look of the sun 
makes you feel warm — ” 

Mr. Wake said I was right, “Personally,” he 
said, “I think that that warm look makes a good 
many people think Italy a warm country. It isn’t. 
Florence is penetrating during some of the win- 
ter months. Hope you have heavy enough 
clothes — ” 

“Oh, yes,” I answered, “I have long under- 
wear and everything — ” and then I realized how 
Roberta would have felt about my confiding that, 
and grew silent. And after Mr. Wake said, 
“That’s good,” in a rather restrained way, he 
grew silent too. 

Then suddenly we were bumping against a 
wharf, and the sailors were squawking as if the 
landing were the first one they had ever made, 
and ragged small boys with piercing brown eyes 
and dusky cheeks and black hair were crying, 
“Lady, postcard! Buy the postcard !" and beg- 
gars held out their hands and whined. And it 
seemed a pity to me that so gentle a climate and 
pretty a country had to welcome people that way. 

However, before I was on land two or three 
minutes I had forgotten all about it and was com- 
pletely absorbed by what Roberta would have 
termed “The country’s entire charm.” 

There were occasional palm trees that rose in 


THE END OF ONE JOURNEY 


11 


piercing spikes between the roofs of dull red tile, 
and a blue sky so clear that it seemed thousands 
of miles from the earth and as if the blue overlaid 
silver; and little streets so narrow one felt sure 
the sun could never creep into them. But I can’t 
do justice to these things, I can only tell, and 
roughly, of what sank into my mind and stayed 
there. And the things that dented my memory 
enough to stick in it, made their dents by sharp, 
new edges. 

For instance: in Pennsylvania I never saw a 
little curly haired, brown-skinned baby who looked 
as if she ought to have wings, sitting on a curb — 
without as much as a safety pin on her — and 
laughing at the bright pomegranate which she 
tossed in the air or rolled in the dirt-filled gutter. 

And I had never seen half clothed little boys 
turn handsprings in the street, and then sing out 
their begging song, which was, “Uno soldo, 
Signor ! Uno soldo ! ’ ’ nor had I seen a town that 
lives in the street, and eats, quarrels, talks and 
sometimes even sleeps there. 

We had to hurry through Genoa to the station, 
because we hadn’t any too much time in which 
to catch the train for Florence, but we went on 
foot and followed our facchino (which is Italian 
for porter) who had our bags piled high in a 
wheelbarrow, and I was glad we walked and that 
we were in a hurry, for we took the short cuts 


12 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


through the tiny back streets, and I think back 
streets are just like people’s kitchens. You learn 
more of the people after you have looked at the 
dish cloth, and found out whether they use a nice, 
hemmed square, or use any old piece of worn ma- 
terial that happens to be around, than you can 
from studying their parlors where everything is 
all spick and span and stuck up. 

I said so to Mr. Wake as we hurried along, but 
he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Our going was 
uphill, and it seemed to tire him ; he puffed dread- 
fully. I decided when I knew him better that I 
would teach him the Billy Taft stationary run, and 
a few of Mr. Camp’s “ Daily Dozen,” but I didn’t 
speak of it then, because I felt that the thought 
of further exercise might not be entirely welcome. 

“Have to run for it,” he panted, as we gained 
the platform, and we did, and we got in the train 
none too soon. I love getting trains that way, but 
Mr. Wake didn’t seem to care for it so much, be- 
cause after he had tossed the facchino some coins, 
and put our bags up on the shelf that is over the 
seats, he dropped down opposite me, took off his 
hat, fanned himself with it, and then wiped the 
perspiration from his brow. 

“Getting old,” he said, but I shook my head, 
because my father is a doctor and I knew why he 
was out of breath. 


THE END OF ONE JOURNEY 


13 


“You’re just a little overweight,” I said, and I 
couldn’t help looking at his stomach which stuck 
out. He saw me do it and he laughed and I liked 
the little wrinkles that stood out boldly for that 
moment, around his eyes. 

“You know,” he confided, “I’ve been trying to 
gain the courage to do something about it, but 
every one — up to this moment — has discouraged 
me! I’d get my mouth set for long walks and 
short rations, and then some one would say, 4 Oh, 
stuff, you’re just right — ’ ” 

“Did they really?” I questioned, because I could 
hardly believe it, and again he laughed. 

“Really, Jane!” he answered. 

“Well,” I commented, “although you are not 
really fat, you’re too fat for your height. And 
you puffed like the dickens after that run, and it 
wasn’t anything ” And then I broke off with, 
“What’s that?” for a horn of the prettiest, clear 
tone had tooted, and it made me wonder. 

“Horn,” said Mr. Wake, “they do that in the 
stations before the trains pull out; haven’t any 
bells over here, you know. ... Now watch this 
start — smooth as glass; no jolts! Government 
over here seems to know how to run railroads.” 

I smiled, because I thought that any govern- 
ment should be able to run the funny little trains 
that looked as if they ought to be running around 


14 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

a Christmas tree, and as if they would fall off at 
every curve, to lie, feet up, buzzing until some one 
started them on again. 

Mr. Wake saw my smile, and I was glad he did, 
because what it led him to say helped me lots 
later. 

“Think they’re funny?” he asked. 

“They look as if they ought to be full of pine 
needles,” I answered. “You know how the nee- 
dles begin to drop all over the Christmas tree 
yard about the second of January!” 

“Of course they look like that,” he answered, 
“we got our patterns for toys, with many another 
thing, from this side of the pond. . . . My child, 
a great many Americans come over here, and de- 
rive real benefit; they see things that are beau- 
tiful and rare, but their gratitude is of a strange 
variety, for they evidence it only with bragging.” 

I felt flat. I said so. 

“Pshaw, don’t!” Mr. Wake begged. “I didn’t 
mean you and I don’t mean to be a preachy old 
codger, but I do think one sees more if one ap- 
preciates and doesn’t depreciate. You know, as 
a matter of fact you wouldn’t go into a neighbor ’s 
house and say, ‘My house is better than your 
house, my bath tub is shinier; my doorbell is 
louder, my front porch is wider — ’ and lots of us 
— in various ways — do just that, for this is a 
neighbor’s house.” 


THE END OF ONE JOURNEY 


15 


I said a really humble “ Thank you — ” and Mr. 
Wake moved over to sit by me. He looked down 
and smiled in a very gentle way, and I began to 
love him. 

“You are a very nice, sensible little girl,” he 
said; “how old are you?” 

I told him. 

“And why are you off here alone at eighteen?” 
he asked. 

“I am going to Florence to study piano with 
Mr. Michele Paggi,” I responded. 

“Well, well!” said Mr. Wake. And then he 
laughed. “I know him,” he said after the laugh. 
“And my, my, what a fire-eater he is ! Well — you 
seem to like adventure. . . . But whatever started 
you this way?” 

“It really is a fairy story,” I said, “and it is so 
romantic that I sometimes can’t quite believe it, 
and I know I never shall be sure it isn’t all a 
dream — ” 

“That is nice,” Mr. Wake broke in, “and it’s 
hard to believe that I sit by a young lady who in- 
stead of asking questions will weave me a tale. 
Good fairies in it?” 

“Yes,” I answered, “and a fairy godmother, 
who wears Paris hats, and always tilted just a 
little over one eye, and soft silk dresses, and gray 
furs that match her fluffy, wavy, light gray 
hair — ’ ’ 


16 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“Ah,” said Mr. Wake, “then she is the sort 
that I, myself, might fancy!” 

“Oh, yon would!” I asserted surely; and it 
seems very, very funny to recall that now ! 


CHAPTER THREE 
LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY 


I WENT into reverse for Mr. Wake, because 
he seemed interested in my own fairy story, 
but I didn’t begin to tell it until after lunch. 

Buying our lunches was the most interesting 
kind of a business transaction, and unpacking 
them was interesting too. 

“At the next station,” Mr. Wake said, “I am 
going to get two mighty good lunches that come 
packed in little baskets, and there will be a little 
wicker-covered bottle, full of wine, that you can 
use for hair tonic or scent after it’s empty — ” 
And then the train slowed and he leaned far 
out of the opened window that was in the door 
of our compartment. 

The station where we found ourselves after we 
had come to a gentle stop was much smaller than 
the one at Genoa, but it had the same foreign 
flavor, and a highly charged feeling of imper- 
fectly suppressed excitement and happiness. I 
can’t quite explain about this; it rises, perhaps, 
from the clear, dazzling sunlight, the masquerade- 
ball look that is lent by gay uniforms, and the 
women who carry trays that are piled high with 
small bouquets. But anyway it is there. And 
17 


18 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


this gaiety was strange to me. Of course at our 
stations there are always some people who 
scream such things as, “Let us know when you 
get to Aggie’s l” or, “Don’t forget to write!” at 
each other, through two panes of thick glass, hut 
they don’t seem entirely happy and I feel that 
the majority are entirely sober about traveling, 
and when I mentioned my feeling to Mr. Wake, he 
said they had a right to be. 

Mr. Wake called out something in Italian, and 
his cry mingled with the shrilly voiced wants of 
the many Italians who leaned from the other win- 
dows of the train, and a white aproned man who 
trundled a truck that was piled high with little 
baskets caught the coins that were flung to him, 
and handed lunches into the train, and said his 
“Grazies” and made his bows. 

And then he reached us, and Mr. Wake bought 
two baskets for two lire each, and we sat down 
and unpacked them. There were bologna sand- 
wiches and ripe olives — which I then didn’t care 
for — and a slab of Italian cheese which I couldn’t 
name, a very good hard roll, figs and grapes, very 
fresh and delicious, and then there was the little 
gourd-shaped bottle with wicker around its feet, 
and a paper napkin. It seemed very reasonable 
to me for a few cents, because it was all I needed, 
and I always need quite a bit. 

“I don’t know whether I’d better drink this — ” 


LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY 19 


I said, about the wine. ‘ ‘ It might make me light- 
headed — ” 

“ Nonsense/ ’ said Mr. Wake, “it’s about as 
likely to as lemonade. . . . The Italians drink it 
like water, and you never see one drunk — probably 
won’t unless some fool starts a prohibition move- 
ment.” 

Then the train made its slippery, oiled start, 
and I spoke only once again, and then I was silent 
for some time. “Do they sell cushions, too?” 
I asked. I had seen a whole truck piled high with 
them, and had seen some of them being passed 
into the windows of the train, and I was naturally 
curious about everything. 

“Rent them,” Mr. Wake answered. “The peo- 
ple leave them in the train, and they are rented 
again on the trip back.” That seemed very 
strange to me, too, coming, as I do, from a race 
that takes everything that isn’t nailed down, while 
traveling. 

Then I really ate, and I was glad to have the 
quiet lull in which to look at the things we passed. 
Everything fascinated me, but nothing seemed 
real. I expected all the time to hear the click of 
the nickel as it drops into one of those boxes 
holding candy that are clamped to the back of 
the seats in our opera house. The country looked 
like a drop curtain, or the kind of a scene that 
brings on a Tyrolean chorus. There was a lot of 


20 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


pink and white and bright, bright green and sal- 
mon colored houses, with blue shutters ; and little 
shrines set high upon their walls, under the wide- 
hanging, gleaming roofs of tiles. . . . And there 
were oxen on the smooth white roads we passed, 
drawing queer, lumbering looking carts with huge 
wheels that creaked each time they completed their 
uneven circles. ... I had so many things to in- 
terest me that I was too busy. It made me think 
of the time that Daddy took the twins (my young- 
est sisters) to the circus, and they cried because 
they couldn’t look at all the rings at once. I felt 
that way, and so surprised over everything. I 
enjoyed my lunch, but I chewed dully and without 
my usual enthusiasm. That was because I was 
looking so hard at the same time. Mr. Wake 
watched me, and his eyes twinkled. I think he 
liked the way I felt. Anyway, as I brushed the 
crumbs from my lap and put the little basket in 
which the lunch had come up by my bag, Mr. Wake 
said, “You know, I have a firm conviction that 
you are going to enjoy Florence.” 

“I’d be an idiot not to, wouldn’t I?” I asked. 

“Surely, but the world is full of idiots. Mr. 
Carlyle once said, 6 London has a population of 
three million people, most of whom are fools’ — 
but tell me your story. You come from Pennsyl- 
vania?” 

“Yes,” I answered, “from a little town that 


LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY 21 

has the smell of oil in the air, and that is sur- 
rounded by hills that have oil wells on them. It’s 
a fine town. You’d like it.” 

“No doubt,” agreed Mr. Wake, and again he 
smiled at me. 

“And,” I confided, “I’d never even been to Buf- 
falo, which is our closest city, so you can imagine 
what all this does to me — ” 

“And who waved the wand?” he asked. 

“Miss Sheila Parrish,” I answered. 

“Miss — ” he stopped, then began again, “Miss 
— who?” he asked. 

“Miss Sheila Parrish,” I repeated. “It’s a 
pretty name, isn’t it?” 

Mr. Wake didn’t answer immediately, and then 
he said, “It is a pretty name ; I’m thinking it holds 
a touch of old Ireland and a deal of romance.” 

“She hasn’t many friends,” I said, “she says 
she is fond of solitude — ” 

Mr. Wake, who was looking down at a strange 
ring he wore — which I soon learned was a scarab, 
— twisted it as he said, “Well, now you have in- 
troduced the fairy who holds the wand, tell me, 
please, how did she wave it?” And I told him. 

It had begun early in May on a rainy day when 
I had spilled fudge right in the middle of the 
front breadth of my one good dress. I felt dread- 
fully about it, because Mother is always asking 


22 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


me to wear an apron, and she works so hard to 
keep ns looking nice that the idea of making her 
more work made me miserable. But there the 
fudge was, spreading over the floor, with the 
treacherous pan handle, that had made me knock 
it off, looking as mild and blameless as the twins 
after they have been eating pink and yellow candy 
bananas (these are forbidden) and there I stood 
looking down miserably at the front of my skirt 
and wondering what to do. 

Well, I remember I murmured, “I might as well 
scrape it up, and get out of this — ” and so I got 
a palette knife and scraped the top layer of fudge 
off the floor for the twins — who don’t care at all 
what has happened to any fudge as long as it hap- 
pens to come to them — and then I scraped my 
dress, and sponged it a little, and then — miserable 
and feeling weighted — went up to the third floor 
where I sleep in the same room with Roberta, and 
got into my old, faded pink lawn. 

I hated that lawn dress, and it helped me to 
wear it while I waited for Mother who was down 
town buying Ferris waists and garter elastic and 
bone buttons and dish towel material and all 
those things mothers buy at least once a month, 
and of course I needed to see mother — as every 
one of us always needs her when we have been into 
mischief ! 

I knew she would say, “ Never mind, honey, 


LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY 23 

we’ll fix it in no time! I have more goods and 
I’ll slip in a new front breadth before yon can 
say 6 Jack Robinson!’ ” And I knew that I would 
feel humble and mean because of her being so nice, 
but cleared up too, and that I would slide up to 
her, and lay my face against her shoulder, and 
say, ‘ 6 Oh, Mother,” in a tight way, because think- 
ing of how wonderful she is, and how much too 
good for us, always makes me want to cry, and 
I would rather die than cry. 

The only time when I ever did cry without 
shame was when my favorite pitcher was expelled, 
and most unjustly, from The Oil City League . 

However, to get on, I went down stairs, and wa- 
tered the plants and dusted and did all those 
things I never do while feeling well mentally, and 
then I sat down and played the piano. 

I didn’t play anything that echoed my mood 
but I played a dancing, gay, bright thing. I be- 
live most people save the sad ones for those mo- 
ments when they want to feel sentimental, or are 
not afraid of being sad. 

Anyway I played this thing which sounded as if 
gipsies might dance to it in the heart of a summer 
day, and I played it, I believe, fairly well. 

After I finished it I sat idle, my hands on the 
piano keys, feeling even more depressed than be- 
fore, and it was into this moment of dreariness 
that the fairy godmother stepped. 


24 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Perhaps I heard a little noise, and perhaps I 
only felt eyes on me, hut in any event, I turned — 
something made me turn — and then I said, “ Why, 
Miss Sheila !” for although I had never seen the 
pretty woman who stood in the doorway, I had 
often — very often — seen the picture of the girl 
she had been, and the years had not changed her 
much. 

She came toward me as I got up, and she held 
out both hands, and I saw that she had felt tears, 
for her long lashes were wet, and made into little 
points. 

“Bless you, darling child !” she said, as she 
kissed me, “how did you know?” and I said, 
“Mother has a picture of you, and of course we Ve 
always talked of you, for Mother loved you so 
much; she said you were so kind to her!” 

“Kind to her?” she echoed, “dear soul, think 
of all that she did for me — ” 

And then her eyes brimmed again, and Mother 
spoke quickly of how they had met, because I 
think she felt that it was too hard for Miss Sheila 
to remember the time when Mother, then a trained 
nurse, had cared for Miss Sheila’s younger 
brother who died. 

“Right by. the First National,” Mother said, 
“and there I was, coming out of Mr. Duffy’s with 
a pound of liver, and I looked up and saw dear 
Miss Sheila!” 


LUNCH AND SOME MODERN HISTORY 25 


“And IVe tried to find yon everywhere, Mar- 
garet,” said Miss Sheila to Mother, “hut that 
trip — I traveled, yon know, after we parted, and 
I lost hold of threads for a time, and then when I 
came hack I couldn’t locate yon. I suppose you 
married the young interne in the Pennsylvania 
Hospital, during that interval?” 

Mother laughed, flushed and nodded. 

“He used to write her letters that weighed 
seven to eight pounds, every day said Miss 
Sheila to me, as she shook her pretty head disap- 
provingly, “I assure you the poor postman grew 
quite stooped; I hope, Jane, that no young interne 
writes to you V 9 

And I told her that none did, and that I wouldn’t 
let any, because I wanted a husband whom I would 
know by sight, anyway, and one that didn’t smell 
of ether. 

And then I put my hand on the piano — “It’s 
this with me,” I said shyly, because I do feel shy 
about my playing. It makes me feel lumpy in my 
throat from the way I love it, and that embar- 
rasses me. 

“I don’t wonder,” said Miss Sheila as she 
looked at me searchingly, “I heard you . . . 
Jane — ” 

And she didn’t wave her wand, but I saw the 
flicker of its silver magic in the air — 

“Jane,” she continued, “I have a hobby, and 


26 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


it is helping girls to find work that they like, and 
after finding it, helping them to go on with it. . . . 
This, because I, myself, have been without work, 
and suffered from it. ... You can play, my child, 
and your mother is going to give me the great 
pleasure of letting me help you play better. . . . 
You are, Margaret 1 My dear , remember the old 
days , and all that you did for me! . . . Jane,” (she 
turned back to me) “in Florence there is rather a 
marvelous teacher named Michele Paggi, and in 
October you shall go to him!” 

That was the story. 

I told it to Mr. Terrance Wake as if he could 
see our house, and knew the people in it, including 
Miss Sheila, who abandoned the party with whom 
she was motoring and came to stay with us for a 
time. 

And as I ended it, on that Italian train that was 
taking me nearer and nearer to Florence, I looked 
up to see that Mr. Wake was still twisting a 
scarab ring and looking down at it. 

“So you see,” I said, “why I am here, and why 
I love Miss Sheila — ” 

“Yes,” he said, and he raised his head to smile 
at me in a strange way. “Yes — I see — ” and then 
he looked away from me and down again at his 
scarab ring. 


CHAPTER FOUR 

FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 

W HEN we reached Florence, which was well 
along in the afternoon, Mr. Wake went 
with me to the Pension Dante, which is on the 
Piazza Indipendenza, not far from the station, 
and is the place where Miss Sheila had arranged 
to have me stay. 

Again a facchino took onr baggage and piled it 
all up, trunks and bags together, in a wheelbar- 
row, and then started ahead of us, singing. 

“ Don’t you live in the country ?” I asked of 
Mr. Wake, for I had understood from Mrs. Hamil- 
ton that he did. 

“Yes, out the Fiesole way,” he answered; 
“my goods go to the Piazza del Duomo where 1 
take a tram.” 

“What’s a duomo?” I asked, because I imag- 
ined it was some kind of an officer in a high, bear- 
skin cap. It seemed to me that it sounded like 
that. But it wasn’t, it was something quite dif- 
ferent. 

“It’s the greatest church in an Italian city,” 
Mr. Wake answered, “and I think you will prob- 
ably be able to see the dome of this one from your 
27 


28 A MODERN TRJO IN AN OLD TOWN 

window. It is one of the largest domes in Italy; 
it was the model for St. Peter’s in Rome, and it 
was alike the despair of Michael Angelo, and the 
pride of its maker, Brunelleschi. ’ ’ 

I said, “Oh,” because at that time such facts 
seemed dry to me, and dulled by dust. I had not 
learned how much romance may be unearthed by 
a puff of breath from some one who knows, as 
does Mr. Wake, how to blow aside the years. 

“About a month,” he said, “and you’ll like it, 
and you’ll be hunting for old facts.” And then he 
smiled at me in a way that told me he had under- 
stood my feeling. 

After that our facchino paused and dumped 
my baggage out of his wheelbarrow and rang a 

bell. 

“You’ve evidently reached home,” Mr. Wake 
hazarded, “and a mighty nice place it is too, isn’t 
it, with this square before you ? Probably puff up 
a million stairs now, and then you’ll tell me I 
have too much tummy, won’t you?” 

“No,” I answered, “I did tell you that.” 

He laughed, and we followed the facchino who 
had put my trunk on his shoulders, and started 
before us, up three flights to the Pension Dante. 

“Look here,” said Mr. Wake as we paused on 
the first landing, “suppose you take me in train- 
ing? You walk?” 

“I have to,” I answered. “Father made me 


FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 29 


promise to walk at least five miles every day — ” 

4 4 Well, that ought to help me,” Mr. Wake com- 
mented; 4 4 suppose I go, too, and show you the 
town?” 

I said I’d like it. 

44 I can take you to some spots most tourists 
miss,” he promised, as we again started on and 
up. 

4 4 That ’ll be nice,” I said, but I never dreamed 
then how very nice it would be, nor of how much 
I was to enjoy those trips he planned, in spite 
of the fact that I learned a good deal in the proc- 
ess. 4 4 And I thank you,” I ended, and he said I 
was most welcome. 

Then the door at the head of the third flight 
opened, and I saw a pretty, plump little Italian 
woman whose hair rippled like the waves that 
follow in the immediate wake of a steamboat, and 
when she held out both of her hands to me, and 
said, 44 Buona sera, Signorina, well-come/” I felt 
very much at home, and I loved her right away. 

4 4 Are you Miss Rotelli?” I asked. 

4 4 Yes, Mees Rotelli,” she answered as she 
nodded like everything, and I introduced Mr. 
Wake, and he left me after a promise of looking 
around to see how I was in a day or so, and then 
I followed Miss Rotelli — I soon called her Miss 
Julianna — in, 

And in — 


30 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Well, I think that everybody should travel. As 
Mr. Hemmingway, whom I met at dinner, says, 
it is educational . One has an idea, or at least I 
did, that houses all over the world are about the 
same. I expected little differences, but I didn’t 
expect stone floors, or Cupids painted on walls, 
or ceilings that took a field glass to see, or to see 
a plaster-of-Paris Madonna on the wall with a 
tall wrought-iron candlestick on the floor before 
it. . . . And I hadn ’t expected to see a box full of 
sawdust with a broom in it, or that they had to 
clean house differently in Florence. ... I didn’t 
know that there was so little water that they had 
to dampen sawdust and brush it around the rooms 
instead of mopping them up as we do. There are 
many, many differences, but those things, and 
Beata, struck into me at first. 

Beata, who had a rose in her hair, and whom I 
soon found was the cook and waitress, was sitting 
in the long corridor into which I had stepped. 

She rose as I came in and bobbed from the knees, 
as Elaine McDonald, who is the only girl in our 
town who ever went to boarding school, did the 
first year after she came home. 

“She ees Beata,” said Miss Rotelli, and Beata 
spoke. “She say well-come,” explained Miss 
Rotelli. 

“Tell her thank you, if you please,” I said. 
And then I heard, “Niente, Signorina Ameri- 


FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 31 


cana ! ’ ’ from Beata, who again sat down and went 
on knitting a bright red tie. 

“She make for her sweetheart,’ ’ said Miss Ro- 
telli, and I didn’t feel very far from home at that 
moment. . . . Roberta makes dozens of ties and 
always falters over presenting them, and says 
that perhaps , after she’s made a few more, she 
can do better — which mother doesn’t think very 
nice, because it makes every poor silly she gives 
them to think he’s the first one to have a tie knit 
for him by Roberta. But Roberta is like that! 
It’s all unfair that she should be popular, but — 
she is ! 

However, to get on, I followed Miss Julianna 
well down a corridor, which ran straight ahead as 
one entered the door from the outside hall, and 
was so long that it narrowed in the distance al- 
most like a railroad track, and toward the end 
of this Miss Julianna opened a door on the left, 
and said, “Your room.” She said everything in 
a clipped way that was most interesting and, to 
me, attractive. 

And I went in. 

I felt lots of interest about that room, of course, 
because I imagined that I would spend a great 
deal of time in it for the next six months at least. 
I looked around carefully, and then I said, “It’s 
very pretty,” although I really didn’t think it was 
but I wouldn’t for the world have disappointed 


32 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

Miss Julianna, who looked on and waited, I 
thought, a little anxiously. 

“Grazie, Signorina,” she said, which means, 
“ Thank you, Miss,” and after that she said, all 
in a level, and very fast, “Down-the-hall-bath- 
room-with-water-which-runs-and-real-tub - dinner- 
at-seven-good-by — ” and after that she nodded 
her head and backed out. 

Then I took an inventory which resulted in the 
discovery that I was in a room that was as big as 
our Elks ’ ball room at home ; a room which was 
punctuated at long intervals by one bed, covered 
with a mustard colored bed-spread, a bureau which 
had a mirror that belonged in the funny mirror 
place in the County Fair, two chairs that were 
built for people with stiff corsets, one chair that 
was designed for an aviator, (it went over back- 
ward if you weren’t familiar with its manage- 
ment) a wash stand with some stuff on it that 
Leslie — about Leslie later — called “Medieval 
hardware,” a table with a bright red cover, a 
black marble mantel and a footstool which I soon 
learned it was wise to use if you didn’t want your 
feet to grow numb from cold. 

In the exact center of the room was a little rug 
that looked about as big as a postage stamp on 
a cabinet photograph case; and across from the 
door was the room’s real attraction which I was 
yet to explore, and that was the window. 


FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 33 


I walked over to it slowly; and there, I leaned 
out, and after I had leaned out — I don’t know how 
long — I came back and hunted in my suitcase for 
the writing case that Elaine McDonald had got 
in New York and given me for a going-away pres- 
ent. And, after I had addressed an envelope to 
Mother, and put on “ Jackson Ridge, Pennsyl- 
vania, Stati Uniti d America,” which Miss Sheila 
had told me to do ; and after I had told about my 
health and asked about theirs, * and said I was 
safe, and told of Mr. Wake who had helped me, 
when Mrs. Hamilton, Miss Sheila’s acquaintance, 
had changed her plan, I described the hack yard. 

“I have just looked out of my window,” I wrote, 
“and down into a little court that looks as if it 
belongs to another age and were sleeping in this. 
It is a court upon which all the houses that box this 
square, back. It has a fountain in it that has a 
stone cupid in its center; there must be a mile 
and a half of tiny winding paths; and there is 
heavy leaved foliage like none I have ever seen. 
Some of the trees quite cover the paths, and others 
of a more lacy variety give one a glimpse of the 
red tiles that divide the winding yellow ways from 
the green. 

“Across the way is a tan stucco house with 
green shutters; its next door neighbor is salmon 
pink and has flower boxes on its window sills. The 
windows are — most of them — set in at different 


34 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

heights. It does not look neat, but it is pretty; 
I think even prettier than the way we do it at 
home. 

“The sun is so bright that when it rests on any- 
thing white, it blinds you. And all the shadows 
are black. The roofs are of red tile, and slope 
gently. There are some poplar trees” (I found 
later they were cypress trees; the shape misled 
me) “swaying over the top of a low roof down 
the block. When I was last at the window a little 
shopkeeper who wore a big apron sat in his back 
door singing, while he polished brass, and his 
voice is nearly as good as Mr. Kinsolving’s — ” 
(Mr. Kinsolving is our church tenor, and he gets 
two dollars for singing at each service, which 
shows how fine he is ; but I honestly thought that 
the shopkeeper sung better, but of course I wasn’t 
going to write that home for one of the twins 
to blurt out when they shouldn’t!) 

“Across the court,” I went on, “is a studio — ” 
(It seems strange to me now — my writing about 
that studio in my first letter home !) 

“And I can see the artist painting,” my pen 
scratched on. “He has on a long white aprony 
looking thing, and I can see his arm move before 
his canvas which is dark. I think I shall like 
watching him and thinking that there is some one 
else in this block who is trying hard to get on, as 
I shall soon! 


FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 35 


“I wish you could see everything I can, dear 
people, and especially the court. Marguerite 
Clarke, as she was in Prunella, ought to be danc- 
ing in the court with her Pierrot following; the 
court looks like that, and as if it would be full of 
ghosts who dance the minuet on moonlight 
nights — ” 

I stopped, reread what I had written, and won- 
dered whether I should send it, because Roberta, 
who is much more practical, sometimes thinks the 
things I fancy, silly. But then I caught the Mrs. 
Frank Jones on the envelope and I knew that it 
could go. 

For Mother always understood my funny, half 
hidden, soft moods as well as my love of baseball 
and outdoor things, and I knew that she would 
like what I had written, even though it would seem 
foolish to all the rest. So I kissed the page, and 
put a little cross where I had kissed it, and I wrote, 
4 ‘That’s for you, Mother dear — ” and then I got 
up and brushed my hair really hard, and hurried 
around at dressing, the way you do when you 
have felt almost homesick and are just a little 
afraid that the whole feeling may creep over you. 

An hour or so later I heard a tinkling bell, and 
a soft, musically rising voice which sung out, “E 
pronto!” which I found later means “Is ready,” 
in Italian, and that “Is ready” in Italian means 
dinner. But I understood that night not from “E 


36 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


pronto,’ ’ but from the fact that, after I opened my 
door and looked into the hall, I saw three other 
doors open and very queer looking people come 
out of them, and go toddling down the hall. 

The first one was fat, and wore the kind of 
basque mother was photographed in when she was 
very young. Her skirt was a purplish serge that 
had once been blue. 

“Well, Miss Bannister!” she called to a thin 
old lady who came out of the door almost oppo- 
site mine. Miss Bannister’s hair was not applied 
quite as it should have been ; it seems mean to men- 
tion it, but she never gave you a chance to forget 
it! Leslie thought she tied it on the gas jet, then 
ran under it, and clipped the cord as she ran, and 
let it stay just where it dropped, and it did look 
that way ! 

“Hello,” answered this old lady, in a high 
squeaky voice. 6 ‘ Has she come ? ’ ’ 

“My eye, yes !” answered the one in the basque, 
whose name was Miss Meek, “and a jolly num- 
ber of boxes too. I say we’ll have a beastly lot of 
brag!” 

That made me mad, and I decided that they 
wouldn’t have any from me. Then they saw me 
and grew silent, and at the moment another door 
opened, and a tall, thin man who walked as if he 
had casters under him, came sliding out. 

“Ahem,” he said, “ahem! And how is every 


FLORENCE AND THE NEW HOME 37 


one to-night? A charming day,” he went on with- 
out waiting for answer, “a charming day! How 
well I remember a day such as this in the fall of 
1902 — ” (he paused, and when he continued, spoke 
very slowly) “now was it in 1902, or 1903? How 
can I fasten it ? ’ 9 ( He snapped his fingers and I ’m 
sure he frowned, although I was walking back of 
him and couldn’t see.) “But just a moment, I can 
locate the year if I reason the thing through, and 
I make this bold assertion because, if I recall 
correctly, it was in the fall of 1902 that I was in 
England, while the day to which I refer was be- 
neath Italy’s azure skies, which clearly reveals, 
and without possible doubt, that it was in 1903, 
since — 99 

“Oh, lud!” broke in the fat one who wore the 
purplish blue skirt and the basque, and was Miss 
Meek. “Oh, lud!” which I found later was her 
way of saying, ‘ ‘ Oh, Lord ! 9 9 

And then we turned into the dining room — I 
had followed the crowd at a respectful distance — 
and Miss Julianna stepped forward, to say, “La 
Signorina Jones, Americana!” and then she 
turned and said, “Mees Meek, Mees Banneester, 
Meester Hemmingway; you must be friend!” 

And I said that I hoped they would let me be. 
And then, a little flushed because I was not used 
to meeting so many people at once, I wiggled into 
my chair, and Beata came in with the soup. 


CHAPTER FIVE 

NEW FRIENDS, A NEW DAY, AND NEW PLANS 

1 LOOKED at the bunch of paper roses that 
stood in the center of the table as I ate my 
soup, because I felt all the rest looking at me 
and it made me uncomfortable ; and I suppose I 
would have looked at them, or down at my plate, 
all through the meal, if Miss Bannister hadn’t 
barked a question out at me. 

4 4 Where do you come from?” she asked, with 
an emphasis and a rise in her sentence that was as 
new to me as the Italian I was hearing. 

4 4 Pennsylvania,” I answered. 

4 4 Quite a village, I suppose?” she questioned. 

I tried to explain, but right in the middle of my 
explanation she said: 4 4 One of my deaf days, but 
no matter, I don’t care in the least. I only asked 
to be polite, don’t you know — ” 

Which left me feeling as you do when you run 
for a car, but do nothing more than reach the spot 
where it was. I ate soup quite hard for several 
minutes. 

Then Mr. Hemmingway, who had traveled quite 
a lot — I learned it soon! — helped me out by 
screaming information about the States across 

38 


NEW FRIENDS, NEW DAY, NEW PLANS 39 

the table to Miss Bannister, who clattered her 
spoon and kept saying, “No matter, no matter !” 
all the time he talked. I felt just exactly as if I 
were in the middle of a fnnny dream, and one 
that wasn’t especially nice, and I honestly even 
half wondered whether I wouldn’t wake up to tell 
Mother about it, and have her say, “Now what did 
you eat before you went to bed?” 

But I didn’t wake up and the dinner went on; 
Beata took away our soup plates, and then brought 
in big plates of spaghetti, cheese was passed and 
sprinkled over this, and I found it good, but diffi- 
cult to eat, because it was in long pieces. Sev- 
eral on my plate I know would have gone around 
our hose reel dozens of times! Anyway, as I 
struggled with this and tried to cut it, Mr. Hem- 
mingway began, and I began to understand him . 

“I am familiar with the States,” he asserted, 
“although my travels in the States have not been 
extensive. I spent a winter in Canada while a 
comparatively young man ; it was, if I recall cor- 
rectly, the winter of 1882. Or was it ’83? Now 
I should know. Ah, I have it! It was ’83, and 
my certainty of this pertinent fact comes from the 
recollection that in ’82 I was in England, and I 
know this, because the year prior to that, which, 
if you will reckon, was ’81, I was detained in a 
village in South Wales, by a sharp attack of fever 
which was thought to have been introduced by 


40 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


the importation of French labor upon the oc- 
casion of — ” 

And so on. He never got there, but I did feel 
sorry for him, so I listened just as hard as I could, 
which is less trying where you can eat than at 
other places. He was having a splendid time, 
when Miss Meek cut in to question me. 

1 6 Student !” she boomed out, and she pro- 
nounced it, “ Stew-dan t.” 

I felt pleased, and I wanted to answer nicely, 
but I had at least six inches of spaghetti in my 
mouth — I hadn’t meant to take so much but it kept 
trailing up, and I had to lap it in — and so I had to 
nod. I should have waited a minute before I let 
that pleased feeling get on top, because she shoved 
it right over a cliff by her next remark, which 
was, “Oh, my eye!” and she followed that with a 
prodigious groan. It wasn’t very flattering. 

“But in a student pension,” began Mr. Hem- 
mingway, “where the rates are lowered for others 
by the fact that practising makes the house — in 
some ways — less attractive, one must accept the 
handicap with grace. How well I remember in 
Vienna, when I, then quite a boy — let me see, what 
was the year?” 

“No matter!” barked Miss Bannister, and then 
Miss Meek added something, after another groan, 
that interested me considerably. 

“And two more coming!” she stated. 


NEW FRIENDS, NEW DAY, NEW PLANS 41 

“Are there ?” I asked quickly. 

U I do not lie,” she answered frigidly, and I 
stammered out something about not having meant 
that she did, but that I was interested. 

“Mees Leslie Parrish,” said Miss Julianna, who 
came in at the moment, after Beata who carried a 
big platter upon which were rounds of meat all 
wrapped in overcoats of cabbage leaves in which 
they had been bake.d, “and Mees Viola Harris- 
Clarke — ” 

I was surprised, and I couldn’t quite believe it, 
because Leslie Parrish was Miss Sheila’s niece, 
and I eouldn’t see quite why she was coming to 
study. 

Miss Sheila told me a good deal about Leslie 
while she visited us. I remember one day, while 
I sat on the guest room bed and helped Miss 
Sheila run two-toned ribbon — wonderfully lovely 
ribbon which was faint lavender on one side and 
pale peach pink on the other — into her beautiful 
under-things, that she, Miss Sheila, said her own 
niece would have played well if she had ever 
learned to work. Amd I remember just how she 
looked as she tossed a chemise to a chair and said, 
“But unhappily, the child has been frightfully, 
and wrongly indulged — ” 

It made me wonder a lot ! 

I knew that Leslie Parrish’s father had lots of 
money, all the Parrish family are wealthy, and I 


42 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


knew that she spent her time going to parties and 
making visits, and entertaining, for Miss Sheila 
had told me that too. So I thought Miss Julianna 
must be mistaken, because, for Leslie, the Pension 
Dante would be very simple. 

‘ 4 When did you hear this?” I asked. 

“A week, ten days past,” she answered, “in 
the cable. Y ou did not know ? 9 9 

“No,” I answered, “I didn’t.” 

“I suppose you did. Miss Parrish also write 
for you — ” 

“When are they to arrive?” asked Miss Meek. 

“To-morrow, or day after,” Miss Julianna an- 
swered, as Beata took away the plates that had had 
the meat on them and substituted some plates on 
which were lettuce and red cheese. 

After this came a pastry, and that made Miss 
Bannister say, “Tart again!” in a high, queru- 
lous voice. 

“Bally things!” said Miss Meek, who, I soon 
found, loved to be thought a sport and used lots 
of English slang, I think, because she had been 
a governess and still taught English to a few 
Italians, and was afraid of being considered 
school-teachery or prim. 

They both ate their tarts just as if they enjoyed 
them, while Mr. Hemmingway began to tell about 
how the first tart was made in England, and was 
side tracked by the reason that had made the man 


NEW FRIENDS, NEW DAY, NEW PLANS 43 

who had told it to him, tell it to him. I began to 
see that he was really ever so funny, and to feel 
like smiling each time he said, “Now let me see, 
it was raining that day if I recall correctly, or was 
it the day before that day when it rained so heav- 
ily? It seems to me it was that day, because I re- 
member I had some new galoshes which I had 
gotten in East London at one of the curb stalls, 
and I recall the getting them, because — ” 

And on and on! His mind was full of little 
paths that led him away from the main road, which 
even a clever person could only occasionally 
glimpse through the haze Mr. Hemmingway made 
by details. 

Alter we had finished the “tart,” Miss Meek 
pushed back her chair, and boomed out 
“ Draughts ?” to which Miss Bannister, who still 
seemed querulous, answered, “If you like — ” 

And they got out a checker board from behind 
a bookcase that was by a window; Beata cleared 
one corner of the table, and they began. Mr. 
Hemmingway stood looking on, rocking back and 
forth, first on his heels and then on his toes, and 
as he did this he tried, I think, to tell of a game 
of checkers he had seen played between experts 
somewhere in Brazil, but of course I couldn’t 
really tell. 

“When I was a youngster — ” he began, “now 
was I twenty-three or was I twenty-four? It 


44 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

seems to me I was twenty-four, because the year 
before I had typhus, and I am certain that that 
happened in my twenty-third year, and directly 
after my convalescence I took passage for South 
America which would make me twenty-four at 
that time, since my birthday is in November, ( the 
year’s saddest month) and having gone directly 
after that, I must, therefore, have passed my 
twenty-fourth birthday — ” 

“Ho hum — ” grunted out Miss Meek. 
“However, no matter,’ ’ said Mr. Hemmingway 
quickly, “What I was about to entertain with is 
the history of my witnessing a match of draughts 
played between experts in San Paola. . . . And 
how keenly I remember it! The day was fine — ” 
“Ho hum!” groaned Miss Meek. 

“What’s he saying?” asked Miss Bannister. 
“Not a bally thing! getting ready, don’t you 
know!” Miss Meek shouted in answer, and I did 
feel sorry for him, but my sympathy wasn’t 
needed, for Miss Meek’s attitude, I soon learned, 
made no impression. 

“I think,” I put in, “I must go to my room; 
I am so sorry, for I would love to hear about the 
match, but I must finish a letter to my family — ” 
Which wasn’t true, but didn’t know how to get 
off without some excuse ! 

I went to bed early, but again I didn’t sleep 
early, and I think it was fully a half hour before 


NEW FRIENDS, NEW DAY, NEW PLANS 45 

my eyelids closed. A cat down in the court had 
made all the screeching, whining, sizzling, hissing 
noises one cat can make, and big mosquitos had 
hummed around to disturb me, too. But at last I 
burrowed under the covers, and then I forgot, 
and when I woke, the sun was spread out across 
the square tiled floor in a wide, blazing streak. 
And the sky looked flat, as if some giant had 
stretched gleaming blue satin all over space ; there 
wasn’t a cloud, nor a feeling of movement, outside 
my window, but only the brightness of the keen, 
strong sun, and that deep, thick blue. ... I 
lay looking out until some one tapped, and after 
my answer I heard Beata’s singing voice, saying: 
“Buon giorno, Signorina! Acqua calda!” 

And I got up to take in a tall, slender necked 
brass pitcher which was filled with water that sent 
up a cloud of steam. 


CHAPTER SIX 

MISS PARRISH AND MISS HARRIS-CLARKE 
FTER I had breakfast, I went back to my 



jt\. room, and trie.d to forget that I was almost 
hungrier than I had been before, and I did this by 
looking out into the court, which I found had a 
morning flavor that differed from its mood of 
the afternoon. For instance the little man, in- 
stead of slowly polishing brass and stopping his 
polishing now and again as he raised his head 
and lingered on a particularly nice note in his 
singing, swept energetically around the back door 
of his shop with a broom that looked as if it be- 
longed in a picture of some witch. And as he 
swept he chattered shrilly at a boy who was rivet- 
ing something on a bench near the door. 

And there were children chasing each other 
around the paths, and my artist wasn’t at work. 
... I realize now — Leslie has taught me many 
things — that it wasn’t nice to spy on him, but at 
that time he seemed only part of a play I was wit- 
nessing, and when I saw what he was doing, I 
hadn’t the slightest consciousness about leaning 
right out of my window and looking across at his. 

He was cooking his breakfast, in front of an 


46 


MISSES PARRISH AND HARRIS-CLARKE 47 


open window that was next to the big studio win- 
dow which so lit the room that one could see in 
pretty well, and I did wonder what he was eating ! 
I had the greatest interest in watching him dump 
it out of the frying-pan on his plate, and when he 
leaned out of his window, to wave his frying-pan, 
and call, ‘ ‘ Gino, buon giorno ! ’ ’ at the little man 
with the broom, and he, in turn, waved his broom 
as he answered, I felt as if the play was really 
started. 

Then I watched him eat and of course that 
wasn’t nice but, as Leslie said, later, I “lack 
even a rudimentary knowledge of social graces,” 
(and I wanted to punch her for saying so) and so 
I could frankly enjoy a lot of things a really pol- 
ished person would have to pretend they weren’t 
watching. 

After my artist had had his breakfast he threw 
a piece of something that was left at a cat, and 
said — so loudly that it floated across the court to 
me — ‘ ‘ Scat, you green-eyed instrument of Satan ! ’ ’ 
which led me to think that he had heard the cat 
concert, too. 

“American,” I said half aloud, for two things 
had told me so ; one was his voice, and the other 
was his dandy throw, for it was a peach. It 
took the cat right on the nose. It must have been 
soft, for, after the cat had jumped it came crawl- 
ing back to the bouquet that had been hurled at 


48 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

it and sniffed at it as cats do, and then it turned 
around and sat down and washed its ears and 
whiskers. That made me like him, for I like cats, 
and a great many men don’t hunt things that are 
exactly soft to throw at cats who sing all night ! 

Then he went to work — I saw him slip into his 
big, long apron, and take his brushes out of a 
mason jar in which they were standing — and I 
left the window and opened my steamer trunk, 
which I had only unlocked the night before, and 
did my unpacking. 

At about ten Beata came in, pointed at my made 
up bed, and said, “No, no, Signorina!” by which 
I suppose she meant she would do it, and then she 
said, “Oh!” in a way that told me she had sud- 
denly remembered something, and fumbled in her 
pocket. 

There was a letter in it for me from Miss Sheila, 
and I opened it with a great deal of interest, for I 
imagined that it would have something in it about 
Leslie and this Miss Harris-Clarke, and it did. 

“Dear Child:” 

she wrote, in her funny, curly writing which I like 
so much ! 

“I am in receipt of rather astounding news, and news 
that does not entirely please me, however, it is news that 
must be accepted, and perhaps everything that comes of 
it will be good; I am afraid I am often a most appre- 
hensive old maiden lady! 


MISSES PARRISH AND HARRIS-CLARKE 49 


“Leslie last night telephoned me that she intends to 
spend the winter in Florence and study with Signor 
Paggi, and that with her will go a young friend who is 
— only temporarily, I am afraid — in Leslie’s complete 
favor. 

“What led to this impulsive plan, I have only a faint 
notion, but that makes no difference ; it is the work out 
of it that bothers me. 

“Because you will be involved, I shall have to be more 
frank about Leslie than I like; and I think I shall do 
it through rules. 

“You are not to play maid to Leslie; run ribbons in 
her clothes, errands for her, or answer her many and 
various whims. No doubt this particular interest will 
last about two or three weeks, and during that time I 
insist thc.t you go your own way in complete independ- 
ence and remember you are under no obligation to a 
girl who is — I am sorry to say — both spoiled and lazy. 

“Love to you, dear child, and the best of luck with 
Signor Paggi ; I — I know — am going to live to be even 
more proud of you than I am at this moment ! 

“Always affectionately and devotedly your friend, 

“Sheila Parrish.” 

and then the date. I thought it was a nice letter 
and I read it several times and then I tore it up 
in tiny pieces and sat down to answer it, and to as- 
sure Miss Sheila, without rapping on wood — and 
it never hurts to rap on wood ! — that I knew that 
everything would he all right. 

Lunch came right in the middle of my writing, 
and after lunch I went to one of the practice rooms 
— which were way down the hall — and played for a 
while. Then I finished my letter, and decided I 


50 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


would go out and post it, which worried Miss 
Julianna, whom I met in the hall. 

“No,” she said, shaking her head hard, “You 
get lost.” 

“But the Italians are awfully easy pointers,” I 
said — I had learned even then that they wave 
their hands a lot — “and as long as they can do 
that, and I can say ‘ Piazza Indipendenza’ and 
‘Pension Dante’ I guess I’ll get along all right; 
you see how it would work — ” 

“Yes,” she answered, “may-fre, but thees Mees- 
ter Wake, he take you soon? I theenk better to 
take the small walk first — please?” 

And because she looked anxious, I said, “All 
right,” and smiled at her and then said, “Good- 
by,” and started down the stairs. 

These were of stone, and the banisters made of 
twisted iron, and the walls were, like most of the 
other walls, of painted or frescoed plaster. The 
hall was cold and draughty as well as dark, and so 
quiet that every step I took echoed loudly, and so, 
when I stepped out into the warmth and light 
and noise of the street, the contrast was complete. 

I blinked a moment before I started, and then I 
drew a deep breath because — -well, it made you 
feel that way ! 

As in Genoa, I don’t remember half I saw, 
but I do remember the different things, and the 
sort of things that I never could have seen in a 


MISSES PARRISH AND HARRIS-CLARKE 51 


Pennsylvania town of fifteen thousand people that 
is surrounded by hills with oil wells on them. 

The first one that struck in was two officers who 
looked as if they had just been painted, and wound 
up somewhere between the shoulder-blades, al- 
though they were much handsomer than any toys 
I’d ever seen. One of them had a mustache that 
tilted up, and he twirled this ; the other flung his 
wide blue cloak back over his shoulder as he 
passed me, with a gesture that looked careless, but 
couldn’t have been so, because it was so packed 
with grace! I walked behind them, looking at 
their high, shining boots, and their broad, light 
blue capes and the gilt braid and the clanking 
swords. And I did wonder how they ever could 
win if they got mixed up in a real fight, and I 
knew that they did, for Father had said they were 
fine and gallant soldiers. 

Then they turned a corner, and I was ever so 
sorry until I was diverted by a man who was 
sprinkling his pavement with water that he had in 
a chianti bottle; he wanted the dust kept down 
in front of his shop, which was an antique place, 
but that quart bottle full of water was all that he 
dared use! 

By that time the Park— I mean the Piazza Indi- 
pendenza — was behind me, houses and shops were 
on the other side instead of green, and the way 


was narrow. 


52 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


After I walked two blocks on this I saw a foun- 
tain that was on the side of a building opposite, 
and it was made of blue and white china, with 
green leaves and gold oranges and yellow lemons 
all around it. I thought it was so wonderful, and 
for once in my life I thought right, because even 
the critics seemed to half enjoy it. I found it 
was made by a fellow named della Robbia who had 
been dead hundreds of years, and that his work 
was fairly well known in Italy. Well, I looked at 
it a while, and then I remembered my letter, and 
went up to two old ladies who were sitting on a 
doorstep eating some funny little birds that had 
been cooked with the heads and feet still on 
them . 

I smiled, stuck out my letter, and said, 
“Where?” 

And I never heard anything like the outburst 
that followed! They both got up and clutched 
my sleeves, and pointed their hands that were 
full of bird-lunch, and nodded their heads and 
patted my back, and kept explaining — in forty- 
seven ways — where the mail box was. It was 
really very funny, and I thought I was never going 
to get away! 

After I did — and I hadn’t half as much idea of 
where the box was as I had when I stopped — I 
went on, and after while I saw something that 
looked suspicious, and after I saw a woman drop 


MISSES PARRISH AND HARRIS-CLARKE 53 


a postcard in it, I dropped my letter, and then 
turned. 

Going back, I waved at the old ladies, and said 
“Grazie,” which I had learned meant thank yon, 
and they bobbed their heads and called, “Niente, 
niente, Signorina ! ’ * 

Then a group of soldiers from the ranks clat- 
tered past me in their olive drab and the heavy 
shoes that announce their coming, and again I 
was at the doorway through which I could reach 
the Pension Dante, wondering whether it was 
really true, or whether my program had slipped 
to the floor during the first act? 

And then I rang the pension bell and went in 
and up. 

Going in, and away from all the shrill, staccato 
street noises, and the smells — which sometimes 
aren’t nice, but are always different — going in and 
away from all this seemed tame, but after I got up 
and Beata had opened the door, I was glad I had 
been decent enough to consider Miss Julianna’s 
feelings because — 

Miss Leslie Parrish, of Oyster Bay, Long 
Island, and Miss Viola Harris-Clarke, of Ossining, 
New York, had arrived ! I heard them before they 
heard me, which is, perhaps, unfair, but it is some- 
times also a decided advantage, and I needed all 
the advantages on my side ! I knew it as soon as 
I heard them speak, and that they would probably 


54. A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


consider me countrified and make fun of me. I 
didn’t care, but I was glad to get used to the idea 
of our being so different, before we met and I was 
plumped up against all that manner at one time. 

It didn’t take a Signorina Sherlock Holmes to 
know that they had come, and I didn’t need 
Beata’s wild pointing, for I heard their voices 
immediately although they were in a room that 
was well down the hall. 

The first thing I heard was, ‘ 4 Simply impos- 
sible !” (I knew in a second that it was Leslie, 
and that it was her comment about the room) 
“You mean to say,” she went on, “that my aunt 
has seen this?” 

“Si, Signorina,” Miss Julianna answered, and 
she didn’t sound as if she were smiling. 

“Well,” I heard in Leslie’s pretty, carefully 
used voice, “that is very strange! What do you 
think, Viola?” 

“I don’t know, dear,” came in a higher, and a 
little more artificial voice, and then there was a 
silence. 

A short, baffled kind of laugh, prefaced Leslie’s 
“I’m absolutely at sea! I don’t know whether to 
stay or not — but I — vowed I would — ” 

“We might get a few things,” suggested Viola. 

“Yes — ” (doubtfully) “but the walls — streaks 
and soil — I don’t know!” 

Again there was a silence. 


MISSES PARRISH AND HARRIS-CLARKE 55 


“You do as you like,” said Miss Julianna 
quickly and in a rather brittle way. “I have keep 
the rooms at order of Mees Parrish, but you do 
not haf to stay — 

And then she came out of the room, and down 
the hall toward me. “Insolent!” I heard in Les- 
lie^ voice, and I wasn’t much impressed. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 

T HAT night, after a dinner during which Les- 
lie and Viola looked as if they were chew- 
ing lemons, I went to call on them because I 
thought it was the polite thing to do. Goodness 
knows, I didn’t want to! I was afraid that they 
would purr along about the weather, and that I 
would have to bob my head and smirk and say, 
“Yes, isn’t it charmingly warm for this time of 
year?” and that kind of stuff which certainly 
bores me! But they didn’t even bother to do 
that! They talked across me, and, although it 
wasn’t comfortable, I will admit that it was in- 
structive. 

I think one can learn so much about people when 
they don’t think it is worth while to be polite, or 
think they are alone in the bosom of their family. 

I remember one time I walked home with Elaine 
McDonald from the Crystal Emporium where we 
had had a banana split, and her father, who 
thought she had come in alone, barked down at 
her as if she were a member of a section gang and 
he were the boss. 

The thing that made it funny was the fact that 

56 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 57 

he is a purry man, and always wears a swallow- 
tail coat on Sunday, and passes the plate, and 
stands around after church bobbing and smirking 
over people, and saying, “ It is a real pleasure to 
see you here, Mrs. Smith !” (or Mrs. Jones, or 
whoever it happened to be) He has a Bible class, 
too, and is the President of the Shakespeare Club, 
and I was surprised to hear him bawl out — bawl 
is a crude word, but it does belong here ! — “Elaine, 
you left the fire on under the boiler and there’s 
enough hot water here to scald a hog! You and 
your mother don’t care how you run the gas and 
the bills — ” 

And then Elaine said, and, oh, so sweetly, 
“Papa, dear, Jane Jones is with me — ” 

And he said, “Ahem — how-a — how-a nice,” and 
then sneaked back into the bathroom and shut the 
door quietly and finished his shaving in deep sil- 
ence. Which just shows — or should, because I am 
using it for the express purpose of illustration — - 
how different people may be in public and while 
shaving. Of course Leslie and Viola didn’t syrup 
up in a hurry as Mr. McDonald did, because they 
didn’t consider me worth while, but I knew that 
they were capable of slapping on a sugar coating 
if they’d wanted to. 

But, to get on, after dinner I waited around 
until half past seven, because the best people in 
our town never start out to make calls before 


58 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

that hour, and I wanted to be correct. Then I 
went down the hall and tapped on Leslie’s door 
because I heard a steady buzzing back of that and 
it intimated that the newcomers were together and 
inside. After I tapped I waited. Then some 
one slammed a trunk lid, and I heard an impa- 
tient, “ What is it?” 

‘ 1 It’s me,” I answered, and realized too late that 
I shouldn’t .have said that. I should have said, 
‘ 1 It is I, ” but I am always making mistakes. Then 
I heard, “Vi, open the door — ” 

And Viola Harris-Clarke let me in. 

Leslie, who was leaning over a trunk fishing 
things out of it, only looked over her shoulder in- 
quiringly for a second, and then turned back after 
a “Hello,” that had a question mark after it. 

“I thought I’d come over and see how you were 
getting on,” I said. 

“Well, sit down — ” said Leslie, “that is, if 
you can find a place!” And I pushed aside a pile 
of silk under- things that was on the end of a lounge, 
and roosted there. And then I waited to have Les- 
lie ask how I was, "because at home that always 
comes first. People usually sit in rocking chairs, 
and the called on person will say, as they rock, 
“Well, now Mrs. Jones, how are youV 9 And after 
the caller answers, they get along to the children 
and then ask about the father, and next about how 
the canning is getting on, or the housecleaning, 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 59 

or the particular activity that belongs to the sea- 
son. It is always like that in our town with any 
one who calls, which I consider polite and inter- 
ested and nice; but I didn’t get it wtith Leslie; in- 
stead she went right on unpacking. 

I looked at her with a good deal of interest, 
and I decided that she was the prettiest girl I’d 
ever seen. Her hair is very light in shade and 
texture, and she wears it straight off her forehead, 
flat at the sides, and in a psyche knot. (I learned 
later that Paris is through with the puffs) She 
is tall and thin and graceful, and her skin is fair 
and it flushes easily. Her lashes and brows are 
dark, and her lashes curl up, (a few days later I 
saw her help them curl up with a little brush) and 
she has a classic profile, slender hands and feet, 
and a languorous, slow way of looking at a per- 
son that can be either flattering or — flattening. 

Viola was another story, and just the way she 
looked explained every single thing about her. 

You could see that she was a follower . 

Her hair had been bobbed, and she had had to 
bob it, not because it was becoming to her, but 
because every one was bobbing it. Now she wore it 
as nearly as Leslie wore hers as she could, with a 
net over it, and millions of pins to keep the short 
ends of the slowly lengthening hair from flying. 
Her eyebrows were what she called “Frenched” 
which meant that she pulled them out and 


60 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


screeched terribly while doing it, and her finger 
nails were too pointed and too shiny. Her mouth 
was too big, and her chin receded a little, but she 
might have been nice looking if she hadn’t made 
such a freak of herself. She didn’t look natural 
at all, and she wasn’t pretty enough to justify all 
the fuss that the stupidest person could see she 
made over every detail. 

She sat on a corner of the table, swinging her 
legs and humming. 

“Isn’t this simply ghastly?” Leslie asked of me, 
after an interval of some minutes’ quiet. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Why, this place. I don’t know what Aunt 
Sheila was thinking of!” then she dumped dozens 
of pairs of colored silk stockings out on the floor, 
and began to take out more and prettier dresses 
than I had ever seen before in all my life. 

“How’d your frocks stand the crossing, dear?” 
asked Viola lazily. 

“Oh, fairly. . . . Old rags anyway. ... I 
didn’t get a new thing!” Then she leaned down 
again and began to take out perhaps a dozen pet- 
ticoats that shone in the light, and silk night- 
dresses and bloomers and a pink satin corset, 
and gray suede shoes with cut-steel buckles, and 
some gold shoes with straps and ostrich feather 
rosettes on the ankles, and some dark blue patent 
leather shoes with red stitching, and red heels! 



“Isn’t this simply ghastly?” 






GETTING ACQUAINTED 61 

And as she did, she and Viola talked of people 
and places I had never met, and of how frightful 
the dinner had been, and of the 4 4 utterly hideons 
rooms !” 

After quite a little time of this — although I 
suppose it seemed longer to me than it really was 
— Leslie sagged down on the corner of a trunk 
she had not yet opened, and hinted about some 
past chapters of her story that interested me and 
that was to have its love scene added in Florence, 
which I then, of course, didn’t know. 

“I came here,” she stated, as she looked straight 
and hard ahead of her, 4 4 on pique.” 

44 I knew it!” murmured Viola. 

4 4 Nonsense ! ’ 9 Leslie answered, sharply. 4 4 Why 
how would you know f 9 9 

44 Dear, I saw you were suffering — ” 

That smoothed Leslie ; I could see her feathers 
settle, and when she went on all the irritation had 
left her voice. 

4 4 Some one,” she confided, 4 4 and it doesn’t mat- 
ter in the least who, since he has gone from my 
life — I assure you I have absolutely put every 
thought of him away — intimated that I could do 
nothing but be a butterfly. He was brutal, abso- 
lutely brutal! 

4 4 And I — perfectly enraged— said I could work, 
and I would show him that I could. And that very 
night — Vi, are you sitting on my ostrich feather 


62 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


fan? — oh, all right, I thought I saw something pink 
there; no, I don’t mind the scarf — ” 

“Go on, dear,” said Viola, after her exploration 
and a wiggle that settled her again. 

“That very night,” Leslie continued, “I tele- 
phoned Aunt Sheila, who happened to be in town 
and at the Plaza, and I told her I intended to come 
here and study with Signor Paggi. She was just 
as mean as she could be. ‘Very well, Leslie,’ she 
said in that crisp way in which she often speaks. 
‘But he won’t keep pupils who don’t work — 9 
... ‘He will keep me/ I answered, and my 
voice shook. ... I was fearfully overwrought 
— my heart had already been trampled upon — ” 

I thought that sounded silly, but Viola didn’t, 
because she said, “My dear !” rather breathed it 
out as if some one had taken her lungs and 
squeezed them just as she began to speak. 

Leslie looked up at the ceiling and swallowed 
hard, in a way she considered tragic, and it was, 
but it also made me think of Roberta’s canary 
when it drinks. Then she rubbed her brow, 
laughed mirthlessly, and ended with, “ and here 
I am!” 

“The bath tub’s the worst,” said Viola, which 
sort of took the cream oft of Leslie’s tragic mo- 
ment, and I could see that Leslie didn’t like it, 
for she frowned. 

“I don’t know what to do,” said Leslie after a 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 63 

small lull, “ whether to hunt some other place, or 
stand this — ” 

“Our trunks are all here,” Viola stated, “and 
it would be hard to move — ” (she had unpacked, 
and I found later she hated effort) “I wondered 
whether we couldn’t get a few little extra things — 
curtains, and cushions and so on? And the food 
we could supplement. I can make fudge and 
chicken king.” 

‘ * I am certain I can make tea, ’ ’ said Leslie, “it’s 
only a matter of the proper pot and a spirit lamp 
and some water, and then throwing the stuff in 
— I’ve seen it done dozens of times.” 

“And we could buy rolls and things — ” 

Then they paused to consider it. 

“Don’t most students do that sort of thing any- 
way?” I asked. 

“It would be Bohemian,” said Leslie, in a more 
energetic voice than I’d heard her use before. 

“ An d after we get famous they’ll photograph 
this ghastly hole, and say we lived here — ” Viola 
added, with a far-away, pleased look. 

“I’m willing to try it,” agreed Leslie, in a dull 
tone I felt she put on. “I don’t care much — what 
happens now, anyway ! ’ ’ 

“Poor darling!” murmured Viola, and in that 
“Poor darling,” I saw the shadow of a row, for 
I knew that Viola couldn’t keep that up all the 
time, and I knew that when she stopped Leslie 


64 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

would be angry, and I knew that they were too 
foolishly and sentimentally intimate to remain 
good friends. However, I never dreamed for 
a second, then, that they would come to me to 
complain about each other ! Which was just what 
they did! 

It was dreadful for me ; there was a time when 
I never went into my room without finding one or 
the other waiting to sniff out their tales, tales 
which they almost always prefaced in this way: 
“I never talk about my friends — ” (sniff) “You 
can ask” (gulp) “any one where I do — ” (sniff) 
“but I want you to know that I have never been 
treated — ” (gulp-sniff) “as I have been treated 
since I came to this place in company — ” (real 
sob) “with that — that creature!” 

When I think of it now, and then that first call, 
I could, as Viola says, “Simply scream , my dear !” 

But I’m getting ’way ahead of my own story. 

At half past eight, I stood up. 

“Well, I guess I’d better go now,” I said, but 
neither Leslie nor Viola said, “Oh, don’t hurry — ” 
as I supposed people always did, and so I did go. 
As I reached the door — alone — Leslie spoke : 

“We go to see Signor Paggi to-morrow, don’t 
we?” she asked. 

“Yes,” I answered, “at one.” 

“We might as well go together,” she suggested, 
“although-—” (her tone was too careless, and she 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 65 

avoided looking at me) 4 ‘we, of course, won’t ex- 
pect to act like Siamese triplets, will we?” 

“I shall be busy a great deal,” I stated, as I felt 
myself flush, and then I went out, and after a stiff 
good-night, went down the hall to my own room. 
It did seem to me that Leslie had been unneces- 
sarily unkind in giving that hint, for I had only 
gone because I supposed it was polite, and I cer- 
tainly never would push in ! Mother had never let 
us do that! 

I was angry, and as I undressed, I vowed that 
I would let Leslie entirely alone, and that she 
could make the first advances — if any at all were 
ever made — and I wondered what kind of a man 
could like a girl of Leslie ’s type, and what he had 
said that had made her do a thing that was so evi- 
dently distasteful. I was really interested, and 
I couldn’t help hoping that this man who had been 
“pushed from her life” had socked it to her hard, 
(and I found later he had!) and I further hoped 
— without even trying to help it — that I could 
squelch her some day. Then I said my prayers 
and crawled into bed. 

As I pulled up the blankets one of the sounds 
that belong to Florence tinkled in through my 
widely opened French windows. . . . Some- 
where, in some little church or convent, bells were 
ringing and sounding out steps in mellow tones 
that floated softly through the air. ... It was 


66 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

very, very pretty* . . . And I closed my eyes, 
and I could see lilies-of-the-valley and blue bells 
growing near ferns. . . . That doesn’t seem 
very sensible unless you’ve heard those bells, but 
if you have — on a warm-aired, soft Italian night — 
you’ll probably understand. Then the bells died 
gently down to nothing and I heard another sound, 
and when I heard that I saw people clogging, for 
it was a banjo, and I got out of bed in a hurry, and 
skipped over to the window without even wait- 
ing to put on my slipprs. 

I couldn’t see much down in the court, because 
the wide banners of light that floated out from the 
doorways only seemed to intensify the shadows, 
and the banjo-player was sitting on a bench by the 
side of a back door and not in the light. 

But I could hear, and I heard, in a very pretty 
voice with the soft strum of the banjo creeping 
through : 

“Dozens and dozens of girls I have met, 

Sisters and cousins of men in my set : 

Tried to be cheerful and give them an earful 
Of soft sort of talk, but, oh, gosh ! 

The strain was something fearful ! 

Always found after a minute or two 
Just to be civil was all I could do. 

Now I know why I could never be contented, 

I was looking for a pal like you.” 

And I knew the tune, and it is one I liked, and the 
singing in my own language was cheering and 


GETTING ACQUAINTED 67 

rather jolly, and the feeling the man put into the 
foolishly light words made me laugh, and I leaned 
far out and listened. 

Then I heard a snatch of a Neapolitan song that 
.better fitted the look of the court, and then a hit of 
opera. . . . The troubadour faltered on that, 
and right in the middle of it he stopped, repeated 
one phrase, and then called, “Hi, Gino, old Topi 
Ta turn, ta turn, ta ta, ta turn — that right?” 

And Gino echoed it in his voice, and answered 
excitedly, “Si, si, Signor! Brava! Brava, Signor! 
Brrrava ! 

And then, warmed and cheered and quite myself 
again, I went back to bed. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


SIGNOR PAGGFS COMPLIMENTS 

S IGNOR PAGGFS studio is high up in one of 
those old palaces that seem to frown at you, 
and the palace is on the Via Tornabuoni, which is 
a street where lots of the wealthy and great people 
of old Florence lived, hundreds of years ago. 

At that time of course — years back, in the mid- 
dle ages — they knew nothing of modern improve- 
ments like portable houses or the sort of stucco 
bungalows that get full of cracks after the first 
frost, and so they put their houses up in the old- 
fashioned way, which does seem to wear well, for 
they stand to-day as they stood when they were 
built. 

I liked looking at them; there is a great deal in 
my nature that answers to a real fight, and those 
houses were built for convenient fighting. Prob- 
ably then, the architects were fussing over nice, 
little windows through which the owner could pour 
hot oil on a passing enemy, instead of the sun 
porches and breakfast rooms and the kind of truck 
that now occupies them. 

It gave me a romantic, chilly thrill to see the 


SIGNOR PAGGI’S COMPLIMENTS 


69 


blank walls of the first stories, which make the 
streets where the palaces exist look so cold and 
stern, for I realized that they didn’t have low 
windows in them because if they had had, people 
who felt like it could throw in bricks and things 
of such forceful nature, too easily. 

They needed this type of dwelling because they 
scrapped so much. The Medicis, an old Florentine 
family, and all dead, but still somewhat talked 
about, were always fighting somebody or other, 
and so were the Strozzis and Tornabuonis, who 
were also prominent hundreds of years ago, but 
still remembered, I found, by a good many. I, 
personally, don’t wonder, and I must admit that 
more than once during my stay in Florence I 
wished I could skip back into the Middle Ages 
for a day or so, and root at just one good fight. 

However, I realize that this is not a natural 
wish for “A young woman of refinement,” as 
Leslie would say. 

We reached Signor Michele Paggi’s studio at 
the time when we should, in spite of the fact that 
Leslie kept every one waiting while she took off a 
veil with brown speckles in it and put on one that 
had black dots stuck on it and then, after that 
was done, went back to hunt a pair of gloves with 
gray and white striped gauntlet tops. 

“ First impressions,” she said, and almost apol- 
ogetically, “are everything , don’t you know! 


70 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


And I’d hate my veil not being right just this 
first time — ” 

“You have a perfect genius for assembling the 
proper accessories,” said Viola, who just a mo- 
ment before had grumbled out, “Heavens, what is 
she doing? I never knew any one who could fuss 
so over nothing I” 

And then we went down our long stairs, through 
the crowded heart of Florence, up the four flights 
of stairs that took us to Signor Paggi’s floor, and 
down the hall toward the only door that had a 
placard on it, to find that the placard had Signor 
♦Michele Paggi’s name on it, and a curt invitation 
to walk in scrawled below that. We did. And I 
knew that my saying I was frightened reveals a 
yellow streak, but I was frightened, so I might as 
well say it. 

Mr. Paggi’s verdict meant a very great deal 
to me, and I had heard that he sometimes refused 
to teach. And although I had tried not to remem- 
ber that, I did remember it as people do remem- 
ber things they try to cover in their minds. Those 
covered thoughts are always straying out! You 
are forever seeing a corner of one trailing out 
from under the thing you’ve thrown over it — 
or at least I am — and Mr. Paggi’s turning people 
away was one of them. I didn’t know quite what I 
would do if he turned me away, because of Miss 
Sheila and Mother and all the rest. They ex- 


SIGNOR PAGGI’S COMPLIMENTS 


71 


pected so much of me and I felt as if I’d die if 
I couldn’t keep them from disappointment. And 
of course I had my own dreams too. 

Well, Leslie and Viola were entirely at ease, and 
somehow — I can’t explain — it didn’t help me, in 
fact their ease made me more uncomfortable. 
And while they walked around saying, “Adorable 
place!” “So much atmosphere!” and things like 
that, and wiggled their fingers to limber them up, 
I sat in a chair that looked better than it felt 
and swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, and 
almost wished that I had been like Roberta who 
plays nothing but rag, and ukelele accompani- 
ments. 

After quite a little time of this I saw a copy of 
the Saturday Evening Post on the table, and got 
it, and I was really beginning to be absorbed in 
something by Ring Lardner when an Italian girl 
came in. She was a sullen type, and she said 
“Good day,” without smiling. 

“We are waiting for Signor Paggi,” Leslie said 
in her sweetest way, but it didn’t melt the girl 
who answered in the short-clipped manner that 
many Italians speak English, ending each word 
abruptly and completely before she started an- 
other. And she spoke in a level too, which made 
her seem most unsympathetic, and fussed over the 
leaves of a big ledger as she answered. 

“I don’t know; whether he see you— r” she stated. 


72 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“But — ” (Leslie laughed in an irritated, tried 
way) “we have an appointment!” 

“He don’t care. When he have headache he 
don’t care for devil. You can wait, you can go, 
it is the same.” And then she disdainfully flut- 
tered the big leaves she had been turning slowly. 

“Will you be good enough to tell him,” said 
Leslie in a tight controlled way, “that Miss Par- 
rish , that Miss Leslie Parrish is here!” 

The girl looked up. 

“No,” she answered, “I do not wish to have the 
book push through the air at me — so — ” (she made 
a hitchy, overhead girl-gesture of throwing) ‘ 4 and 
he do not care who you are. Why should he care 
who you are ! ’ ’ she ended, her eyes now on Leslie 
and boring into Leslie. It was almost like a 
movie ! 

“ Really — ” broke out Leslie, and then she 
stopped and shrugged her shoulders and walked 
over to stand by a window that had a row of cen- 
tury plants on its sill. And here she hummed to 
pretend that the whole matter was beneath her 
notice, but she tapped her foot and I knew that 
she was angry. 

Then we waited, and I never felt as if I did so 
much waiting as I did then, although the waiting 
wasn’t stretched across more than half an hour. 
It was stretched tightly, and that makes all the 
difference I 


SIGNOR PAGGFS COMPLIMENTS 


73 


At last the inner door opened — we came to call 
what lay behind that door “The Torture Cham- 
ber’ ’ — and a woman came flouncing out. After 
her passing, a little man with stiff, coarse hair 
which stood straight up from his head, and a 
waxed mustache, paced up and down inside the 
little room. He looked as if he should be wear- 
ing a red uniform trimmed with gilt braid and 
snapping a short, limber whip at crouching lions ; 
I’ve seen dozens just like him in cages ! 

“ Temperamental !” Leslie whispered, and she 
was right ! 

“Fascinating,” Viola answered, in the same 
kind of a low, highly charged wheeze. Then we 
waited some more. 

At last Signor Paggi came to the door and 
stared at us. 

“ Well?” he snapped, and I was glad to leave the 
business to Leslie, who stood up and spoke. 

“Signor Paggi,” she said, “we have been sent 
here, because in America you are regarded as the 
most marvelous person — ” 

“I do not make fools play,” he broke in, “You 
remember that ! You have appointment?” 

“Yes,” Leslie answered, and with a good deal 
of resentment in her tone, “I told your office girl, 
but she — in a manner I must, in fairness to your 
interests, Signor Paggi, tell you was msolent— 
told me — ” 


74 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“Very* good secretary/’ (he again interrupted) 
“I can get many pupils, but only in my life once 
have I found the good secretary. Come in — ” 

And, silent, we followed him. 

The room was large and almost empty. It had a 
bench in it, a table on which was some music, a 
piano, and near that the chair that Signor Paggi 
sat in when he wasn’t too agitated to sit. 

“You first,” he said, almost before we had 
crossed the threshold, and he pointed at me. I 
went to the piano and sat down. “Well, play!” 
he barked and I think I played something of Mac- 
Dowell’s. 

“Stop!” I heard. I stopped. 

“What do you see?” 

“Nothing,” I answered. 

“It is very clear you see nothing. It is awful. 
You play like a peeg! Toodle, toodle, toodle, 
SQUEAK ! Oh — ■” and then he clasped his hand to 
his forehead and glared up at the ceiling. 

“You must see peecture,” he said after a mo- 
ment of silence, “a pretty peecture; I give you 
time to theenk.” (He did) “Now go!” 

And I did. 

I don’t know what I played, but I saw our 
living room; the lounge that has grown lumpy 
from the twins jumping on it ; the piles of popular 
music on the piano ; mother’s darning in a big bas- 
ket by the table j the Boston fern in the bay win- 


SIGNOR PAGGFS COMPLIMENTS 


75 


dow; even a pan of fudge that didn’t harden, with 
a knife in it, and Roberta’s knitting — always a 
tie — half poked nnder a sofa cushion. 

And I suppose that doesn’t seem like a pretty 
picture, but it was pretty to me, and it carried 
me through. 

“You can take lessons from me,” Signor Paggi 
said, as I finished. I thanked him in a little 
squeaky voice that must have sounded funny. 

“And now,” he went on, “you can get up. You 
theenk you seet upon my piano stool all day? You 
do not ” 

And then I got up and went over to the bench, 
and my knees shook more than they had as I went 
over to the piano, which was so silly that it made 
me ashamed. Leslie took my place, and I don’t 
think she was much frightened. She was pretty 
sure of her playing she told us later, and she was 
used to playing for people, and her assurance I 
thought would help her, but — it didn’t. Signor 
Paggi let her play all her selection, before he 
spoke, and as he did he cleaned his nails with a 
toothpick. 

“Are you deaf?” he asked in an interested, re- 
mote way. 

“Certainly not/' Leslie answered haughtily. 

“Ah, how greatly then do I pity you! To hear 
yourself play! Oh, my!” (And again he clasped 
his forehead and rolled his eyes at the ceiling) 


76 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“And also, yon improve on Mr. Bacll, ,, he went 
on, after his tragedy moment was past. “It is 
very hind of yon to show the master how he should 
do. No doubt he is grateful! I think he turn in 
the grave. . . . Mr. Paderewski have great 
sense ; to work for a country who is lost is better 
than to teach some I have met. . . . Oh, my! 
Some fool teach you that in girls’ school? You 
will drop airs with me, and play what is upon the 
sheet . YouseeV’ 

Leslie, with scarlet cheeks, and bright, angry 
eyes, got up, and nodded. Then Viola was sum- 
moned, and I felt most sorry for her because she 
had no nerve and she wobbled all the way over to 
the piano, but she did better than either Leslie or 
I, and she got off with “Skip that and thanks to 
heaven it will be shorter!” 

And so ended that hard half hour that seemed 
hours long, and started all our winter’s work in 
Florence, 


CHAPTER NINE 
A STROLLING PICNIC 
FTER we had made a slinking exit that took 



jC\. ns into the outer room, and the girl, at a 
nod from Signor Paggi, had put our names down 
in the hook and given us slips upon which were 
our names and lesson hours, we started down 
stairs and no one said a word. I think we would 
have kept quiet for a long, long time if I hadn’t 
started laughing, hut I did — very suddenly and 
without really knowing that I wanted to — and 
Viola, after a moment, joined me in a weak, close- 
to-hysterical way. Leslie didn’t laugh and her 
eyes were hard and her chin set, and she was so 
angry that she walked as if she had been wound 
up too tightly. She made me think of ‘ ‘ Mr. Wog, ’ 9 
a mechanical toy man, that the twins start into 
the living room from the dining room door some- 
times when Roberta has company. It makes her 
very angry, because she says it looks so silly, and 
she says that it naturally embarrasses a man to 
realize that some one has been listening to every 
word he said. The twins told me that they wait 
around in the dark under the dining room table 


>* 78 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

until they hear the caller tell Roberta that she is 
so sympathetic, or beautiful, or that they have 
long admired her, and then they crawl out with 
their wound toy and start it in. Louise, who is the 
elder by two minutes, said that “ Mr. Wog” almost 
always broke into Roberta’s soft, “ Oh, do you 
think so?” and that they always had to stuff their 
handkerchiefs right into their mouths to keep from 
screaming with giggles. 

But to get on, Leslie walked as Mr. Wog walks, 
and when she spoke she did so between sharply 
indrawn breaths and in a way that told a lot she 
didn’t trouble to put into words. 

“Aunt Sheila knew this old devil — ” she said, 
“I make no apologies for calling him that — and 
what she did was vicious, positively vicious ! She 
— she said I wouldn’t stick, made me say I would, 
in fact — ” (she paused, and had to draw several 
quieting breaths before she could go on) “in fact 
I wagered her a cottage that father gave me last 
birthday, a heavenly sweet place up on Lake 
Placid, I wagered her that, that I would stick it 
out and study with this horrible person! . . . 
And if I can ever punish Ben Forbes for all this, 
I will consider that life has given me — all the 
sweetness I shall ever crave!” 

Then we stepped out into the street. 

Of course it seemed about sixteen times as 
bright as it really was, because both the halls and 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


79 


Mr. Paggi’s rooms had been dark, and it seemed 
more good to be out than I can describe. After 
I blinked my eyes into adjustment with the out- 
door glare, I stole a side glance at Leslie and won- 
dered what sticking it out — if she could stick it out 
- — would do for her? I knew that she would either 
flare up and leave it all, or that she’d have to 
change, and I remembered how Howard McDon- 
ald, who is Elaine’s brother, had learned to keep 
his temper by playing baseball. The training, 
and the having to abide by decisions that he 
thought unfair had been fine for him, and after 
a season of playing short-stop, everybody won- 
dered whether he had changed, or whether they ’d 
been mean? “Will you — can you stand it?” I ques- 
tioned inside, and Leslie answered, almost imme- 
diately, quite as if I’d put my wonder into words. 

“I am going to go through with it,” she stated 
through set teeth. “If I die of disease from living 
in that frightful hole, or from shocked, shattered 
nerves after a lesson, perhaps Aunt Sheila may 
have a question or two to ask of herself!” 

“He couldn’t have known who you are, dear,” 
said Viola, who was groping around to find the 
right key. 

Leslie laughed shortly. 

“Aunt Sheila said I depended on that,” she con- 
fided. “That was during one of her all-too-fre- 
quent moments of flattery. Sometimes I think I 


80 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


have been the most misunderstood girl who has 
ever lived! And oh, how I ache, alone, in my 
fumbling through the dark ! 9 9 

She stared ahead like everything after that; I 
guess she was trying to look dramatic. Viola 
said, “Poor darling , 1 understand . 9 9 And then 
Leslie said, “I — 99 (her voice dropped and broke) 
“I am close to fainting — I need tea — 99 and so they 
went to Doney’s which is the fanciest restaurant 
in Florence and marked “expensive ’ 9 in Baedeker. 
After the remark about Siamese triplets I didn’t 
intend to have her think 1 wanted to be asked to 
her party, so I said, “I must leave you here — ” 
although I had no idea where I was, or where I 
should be going. 

“Must you, really V 9 Leslie asked so vaguely, 
that I got mad all over again and answered with, 
“I generally say what I mean,” which of course 
was not polite. Then, feeling a little ashamed of 
myself, I turned and left them and began to won- 
der which Italian I should ask where I was and 
where I was going — in English ; but I kept passing 
them, and going farther and farther all the time 
because tl e doing it seemed hard. 

Then suddenly I saw some one who was ahead of 
me, and I hurried, for I knew the gray homespun 
coat and the swing of the gray hat brim. 

“Wait!” I called, and he turned, and then he 
was laughing down at me, and saying, “I just went 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


81 


up all those stairs that lead to the Pension Dante 
to hunt you, and found you out — and found where 
you were — now tell me about it!” 

“Oh, Mr. Wake!” I said, and I drew a deep 
breath because I was so glad to see him, and so re- 
lieved over finding some one who could talk as I 
did. 

“Pretty had?” he questioned, with a kind look. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” I stated, which wasn’t 
exactly an answer, but it pleased Mr. Wake, for 
he said, “Why, dear child, how mighty fine of 
you !” and pumped my hands up and down in his. 
Then he said , 4 4 Look here, I ’ve a plan. I say we go 
collect some food, spoil your dinner, add another 
inch to my tummy, and have a picnic. Like ’em?” 

“Love them!” I answered. 

His eyes twinkled down at me, and all the little 
laugh wrinkles on his temples stood out. 

“Good!” he said, “I know a little shop down 
here, on a dark arched street, where Dante may 
have passed his Beatrice, and in that little shop 
there are cakes that must make the angels long to 
come down on parole. And near this hake shop is 
a wine shop, where I shall buy you either some 
vermouth, or some coffee, and my plan is to col- 
lect our goods, assemble them, and then eat. Is 
it welcome?” 

4 4 That’s exactly the sort of thing that suits 
my temperament,” I answered. “I can hardly 


82 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

forgive a person who uses a spoon on an ice cream 
cone ! ’ ’ 

That made him laugh, although I don’t know 
why, and he took my hand in his, and drew it 
through his arm. 

‘ 4 Amazingly improper I am told,” he said as he 
did it, “but a fine way for comrades to walk, and 
I feel that we are going to be real comrades and 
friends.” 

“I hope so,” I said, for I was liking him more 
and more all the time. 

Then we didn’t talk for a little time, and I be- 
gan to enjoy looking into the windows of the smart 
shops that are on the Via Tornabuoni, and at the 
gay crowds that shift and change so constantly. 
There were dandies lounging at the curbs, swing- 
ing their canes, curling their mustaches, and 
searching through the crowd, with soft- sentimen- 
tal brown eyes, for some pretty girl at whom they 
could stare — to stare, in Italy, is a compliment! 
Then there were bright spots made by the women 
with their high-heaped trays of flowers, and the 
funny spots made by the insistent little boys who 
try to sell postcards and sometimes can’t be dis- 
couraged even by a sharp “Basta!” which seems 
to mean “Get out!” and “Enough!” and other 
things of that kind, all rolled into one ! 

In the street, the sharp cracking of the cabmen’s 
whips and their shrill, high calls made a new sound 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


83 


for me to add to my'colleetion, and the beautiful 
motors which slid by made me wish that Elaine 
McDonald could have one glimpse ; because one 
day at Roberta’s sewing club when all the rest of 
the girls were saying that my going away was fine 
and everything, Elaine had said that she would 
rather stay in Pennsylvania than go and hobnob 
with organ grinders, and I think she was jealous. 

I liked all this more than I can say, and with 
Mr. Wake I wasn’t bothered by the crowds. Flor- 
ence has about the same population as Baltimore, 
although Mr. Wake said it didn’t seem so because 
so many Italians crowd in a few rooms, and they 
live so tightly packed. One can walk to the edge 
of the city anywhere easily, for it doesn’t cover 
much space, but to me it seemed very large and, 
at first, confusing. 

After we had walked some time we turned in a 
tiny street that had an archway over it, and 
seemed as dark as ink from contrast to the sunny 
street we’d left. I liked it, and, as I picked my 
way over the big cobblestones, I said so. 

i ‘It is a part of Florence that most tourists 
miss,” said Mr. Wake, “and it is too bad, for it is 
the most characteristic part. Ah, here we are — ” 
he ended and we turned in a tiny doorway from 
which came the pleasant smell of hot sugar and 
warm bread. 

We got our cakes — which were very good — and 


84 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

took them in our hands, and went on a few doors, 
around a corner, up a few steps — and those right 
in the street at the back of some great palace — and 
then we turned into a broader way and found a 
shop that had the entire front open — they roll up 
during the day time and stay up even through all 
the winter — and here I had coffee and Mr. Wake 
a tiny glass of wine, and we ate and drank as the 
girl who had served us looked on and smiled. It 
was very pleasant, and I had a fme time ! I told 
him about my interview with Signor Paggi and 
he thought I had got off easily. 

After we had eaten and talked we walked up 
past the Loggia dei Lanzi which has statues in it 
that commemorate all sorts of historic events and 
faces the square in which there is a replica of 
Michael Angelo ’s David ; the square is large, and 
very busy with quickly passing people, and the 
people who pause to make small groups that are 
always dissolving, and ever reforming; and these 
people always look futile. I didn’t know why, but 
Mr. Wake said that the Palazzo Vecchio, which 
is at right angles to the Loggia dei Lanzi and looks 
scornfully down over everything, made it. 

“See that old building over there?” he said, 
as he pointed with his cane. 

“Um hum,” I answered, as I looked way up 
at the great big tower, and tried to keep my mouth 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


85 


shut while doing it. I don’t know why it is so 
easy to look up with your mouth open! 

“In there,” said Mr. Wake, “are ghosts who 
talk of making war upon a neighboring town. 
They fear that Fiesole is growing too strong, Fie- 
sole that looks down from the hill behind you.” 

“Did they fight like that?” I asked. 

“Exactly like that! And without putting any- 
thing on the bill-boards about it beforehand. . . . 
You see Italy was — not so long ago either — a land 
of little countries, for each city had its rulers, and 
fought for its rights, to keep its possessions, or 
to gain others. . . . And a lot of the plans went 
on in there — ” and again he pointed with his cane. 

“How old is it?” I asked, and then he told me 
and I gasped, for it was begun late in twelve hun- 
dred and finished in thirteen-hundred, fourteen. 

“Not so old for Florence,” said Mr. Wake, after 
my gasp, “you know the original Battistero, or 
Baptistery, was built probably in sevehth or eighth 
century. It was remodeled to its present condi- 
tion, practically, in 1200. 

“No, I didn’t,” I said, and humbly. 

“Well, you’ve lots of time. And you’ll need it. 
There’s lots to see; the house where Dante lived, 
and the tomb of Galileo, and the grave of Mrs. 
Browning, and the literary landmarks — Thomas 
Hardy wrote things in this town, and George Eliot 


86 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

came here, and oh, ever so many more — and right 
before you in the middle of this square Savonarola 
was burned — ” 

And I had to ask who he was ; I knew that I had 
heard the name, but I am lots better at remember- 
ing faces then I am at remembering names. 

“The Billy Sunday of the year of our Lord, 
1490, ’ ’ said Mr. Wake, “who, after he had had 
more good art burned than has ever been produced 
since, displeased his followers, the Florentines, 
who tortured him — poor chap — and right over in 
that building, Jane — and then burned him.” 

“Why did he want the pictures burned?” I 
asked. 

“The subjects hadn’t any slickers on,” said Mr. 
Wake. 

“Feel anything here?” asked Mr. Wake, after 
we had been quiet a few minutes. 

“I feel as if I don’t matter much,” I answered. 

“That’s it. . . . The old building smiles scorn- 
fully, and says, 4 You will pass, but I shall 
stay!’ ” 

Then we walked across the square between the 
cabs and motors, with the crowd, made up of sol- 
diers and officers, and the big policemen — the car- 
abinieri — who wear flowing capes and feathers 
in their hats, and always travel in pairs. As we 
reached the other side Mr. Wake told me one more 
thing, and then took me home. 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


87 


I noticed a statue of a man who was carrying off 
a beautiful woman who struggled. There was lots 
of action in it ; the girl looked as if she could play 
forward and the man looked as if he would be a 
whopper at the bat. 

Mr. Wake saw me looking at them and said: 
“ That’s the way they did it in the old days, and, 
no doubt, had I lived then, I wouldn’t be a bache- 
lor. . . . Would you like the story V 9 

‘ ‘ Very much / 9 I answered. 

“Well,” he said, as he twirled his cane, “this 
was the way of it. Very early in the history of 
Rome, the debutante crop must have been low, 
for there weren’t enough wives for the young 
men, who were up and coming and probably 
wanted some one to darn their socks and to smile 
when they told their jokes. And then perhaps 
there was an extra income tax on the unmarried ; 
they knew a lot about torture those days and so 
it is not impossible ! Anyway, the Romans made 
a great festival in honor of Neptune, and they 
invited all the neighboring people to come and 
bring their families, and in the midst of the 
games the young Roman dandies rushed in among 
the spectators, and each selected a maiden that 
he thought he would like for his wife — it had to 
be a case of love at first sight, Jane — and carried 
her off. 

“Soon after, the Sabine men, who were proba- 


88 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


bly considerably put out, came bearing down upon 
Rome with loud shouts and the brandishing of 
glittering steel, and I myself can see the glare of it 
in the sun this day! . . . But the Romans drove 
them back that time. However — and now we have 
the real nub of the story, Jane, and the real con- 
fession of the heart of woman — although the rec- 
ords have it that the Sabine brides put up a most 
unholy row when they started out upon their wed- 
ding journeys, they evidently liked the job of be- 
ing Roman wives, and really respected the men 
who didn’t even give them time to pack or to cry 
just once again on mother’s shoulder, for before 
the second battle opened between the enraged and 
outraged Sabines and the conquering males of 
Rome, the Roman wives, once Sabine girls, rushed 
between the warring factions and plead so pret- 
tily for peace that it was granted, and the story 
goes on that the two people were so united that 
their Kings reigned together, and that all there- 
after was both peaceful and prosperous.” 

“Oh!” I said. I did like that story. “Did you 
ever feel like doing that!” I asked, for I thought 
it might be a confession of men as well as of 
women. 

“I have,” he answered, “and if I had — perhaps 
— perhaps it would have been better!” and then 
he smiled down at me, but the smile didn’t bring 
out his laugh wrinkles, but instead it made him 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


89 


look strangely old and tired, which made me won- 
der. We walked on, for a little time, silently. 

“By the way,” I said as we reached the cov- 
ered corridor that is opposite the big Uffizi Gal- 
lery, “my Fairy Godmother writes letters !” 

“And floats them to yon npon dew?” asked Mr. 
Wake, “or does a spider throw them to yon with a 
silver, silken thread?” 

“No,” I responded, “she puts a blue charm 
on the upper right hand corner, and the letter 
comes to me!” 

“And something of a marvel at that,” com- 
mented Mr. Wake. Then he dismissed fancies, 
and added, “You have heard from her?” 

“Twice,” I answered, “I had a letter yesterday, 
and one that was posted only an hour after it 
came to-day.” 

“I’ve a certain feeling — a want for seeing how 
fairy godmothers write,” said Mr. Wake. 

“It’s in my pocket,” I told him, and we stopped 
and I fumbled around until I found the large, 
stiff square. 

1 ‘ There — ’ ’ I said. Mr. Wake took it. 

“No doubt you think me a strange old chap,” 
he said. 

“Oh, no,” I answered, “a great many people 
are interested in writing nowadays.” 

“It isn’t that, but your fairy godmother brought 
to my mind the years when I believed in fairies. 


90 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


. . . A very nice writing, isn’t it? I think it is 
most charming, don’t you, Jane?” 

“See how it looks on the page,” I said, taking 
it from him quickly, and then the letter from its 
envelope. “It is pretty, isn’t it?” 

“ ‘Dear, dear Child: — ’ ” he read, and then 
suddenly, as if he were irritated, or had been hurt 
sharply, added, “Here, here — I don’t want to be 
reading your letters! And my soul, I must be 
getting you home! I’ve a dinner engagement 
over South of the Arno, and I will have to speed 
up a bit — ” 

And we did. 

At dinner Leslie was uppish and unpleasant. 
I think she was still smarting from Mr. Paggi’s 
attack, and that her pride was so shaken she had 
to pretend some of the assurance that she had lost 
that afternoon. Anyway, something made her get 
into a very elaborate dinner dress, and put a high, 
Spanish comb in her hair, and wear her big, plati- 
num-set ring of diamonds, and a little flexible 
pearl-set bracelet, and a platinum chain with 
pearls on that. She looked beautiful, but Mother 
never thought it was in good taste to wear things 
that are unsuitable, and I don’t either. 

Leslie sailed in after Beata had brought in the 
soup, and Miss Meek, with whom Leslie had struck 
up a feud at the first meal, burst out with, “Oh, 


A STROLLING PICNIC 


91 


my eye! Look at the Queen of Sheba !” which 
seemed to make Leslie awfully mad, so when 
Miss Bannister asked me what I had done during 
the afternoon, I told every one — to change the cur- 
rent — in spite of the fact that Miss Bannister had 
said, “One of my deaf days, and it doesn’t matter 
in the least, don’t you know. Only asked to be 
polite. Pass the bread.” 

“Mr. Wake?” said Leslie, after I had told of 
my walk, and the Loggia dei Lanzi and the Sabine 
story. “And he took you into an alley restaurant 
to eat? How odd!” 

“Perhaps the poor old bounder is jolly hard 
up,” said Miss Meek, who tries to be kind to peo- 
ple she likes. 

“It wasn’t that,” I said, and I said it sharply, 
for I was getting more and more out of temper 
with Leslie. “We were hunting around for at- 
mosphere; you ought to know what it is, Miss Par- 
rish, you talk about it enough. . . . He has a villa 
out the Piesole way and I guess a person with a 
villa wouldn’t worry about a few cents, although 
I would like him just as well if he had to ! ” 

“ That's the staunch-hearted flapper!” put in 
Miss Meek, as Leslie murmured, “So many of 
the climbing sort rent fearful little places — really 
no more than chicken coops, and then call them 
villas! So amusing — ” 

“Did you mean my friend?” I asked quickly, as 


92 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


I felt angry hot spots burn on my cheeks. You 
have to fasten Leslie. She likes to be mean in a 
remote, detached way, which is the meanest way 
one can be mean! Of course she didn’t own up 
to it ; I might have known she wouldn’t ! Instead, 
she answered with, “Really, why would I mean 
your friend whom I’ve never seen? What possi- 
ble interest would I have in him?” 

I didn’t answer that; I couldn’t, I was too an- 
gry. I ate instead, and so fast that I afterward 
came as close to feeling that I had a stomach as 
I ever do. If I had known then how Leslie would 
come to feel about Mr. Wake, and how she was 
one day to say, “Why didn’t you tell me he wrote 
books?” I would have been comforted. But the 
veil that covers the future is both heavy and thick, 
(I guess I must have gotten that out of some book, 
but I can’t remember where) and that evening 
I was to have nothing to comfort me. 

Something diverted me on the way to my room, 
and that was Beata, who sat in the hall with her 
head on her pretty arms that were dropped on 
a table. 

“Why, Beata!” I said, for she looked so for- 
lorn, and I put my hand on her shoulder. That 
made her raise her head, and she looked at me and 
tried to smile, but there were tear stains on her 
cheeks and her heavy lashes were moist, and I 
saw that the red tie was crumpled up in her 


A STROLLING PICNIC 93 

hand and I was certain that the tie was a little 
link in her story. 

“Oh, Signorina,” she whimpered, and timidly 
groped for my hand, and when she found it she 
held to it tightly, while I patted her shoulder with 
the free one. 

It seemed strange to stand there with her, un- 
derstanding and helping each other without a 
word, when Leslie and I could not understand or 
help each other, with all our words in common. 

Leslie sailed by at that moment, and raised her 
brows as she looked at the tableau I made with 
Beata. 

She thought it was common. But it was not. 
I am not always certain of my judgment of her 
then, because at that time I didn’t like her, but 
I know I am right in saying that she at that mo- 
ment was the ordinary soul, for she would have 
gone past need, and — raised her brows in passing ! 


CHAPTER TEN 


CREAM PUFFS, THE TWILIGHT, AND— 

T HE week that followed the day of our first 
visit to Signor Paggi allowed us all to find 
our grooves and to settle into them. And each 
day I, in my going, started with a continental 
breakfast — one can slip over these quickly ! — and 
after I had had my two rolls and a pot of some- 
thing that smelled a little like coffee and tasted a 
lot like some health drink, I went on to two hours 
of practising. I finished these when the clock 
struck eleven, and then I’d write letters, or sew 
fresh collars and cuffs in my blue serge, or wash 
stockings and underwear, or walk until it was 
time for the mellow, soft-toned bell that hung in 
the hall to be rung and for Beata to say, “E 
pronto ! ’ ’ which of course meant lunch, and that 
it was one. 

After lunch I had two more hours of practis- 
ing and then I could do as I liked again. Some- 
times I walked — always if I hadn’t in the morn- 
ing — and sometimes I read or wrote, and once in 
a while Miss Meek asked me to play “draughts,” 
by which she meant checkers, or Miss Bannister 

94 


CREAM PUFFS, THE TWILIGHT, AND— 95 

would call me in her room to show me some old, 
faded, once brown, now yellowing photographs 
of the house where she had lived as a girl, and 
where her father, who had been “The Vicar,” 
had died. And I always said they were beautiful, 
and she would nod, and keep on nodding for quite 
a while, and point out the vine that her mother 
had planted, and the place where her father sat 
under the trees and read his books, and the spot 
where she and her little sister, who was dead, had 
had their dolly parties. I think she enjoyed do- 
ing it, and I was so glad that I could look at the 
photographs and say that they were lovely 7 and 
ask her little questions which she seemed to like 
answering. 

Dinner and the evenings were all about the 
same, with Mr. Hemmingway “a-hemming” and 
trying to remember, and Miss Meek barking out 
“Oh, lud!”, or asking Leslie how “Lady Vere 
de Vere” was this evening? And Miss Bannister 
squeaking out questions and then telling whoever 
answered them that she didn’t care what they 
said. And “not to bother, please — ” and then— 
my room, for Leslie and Viola were very thick at 
that time — and they wouldn’t have included me 
in any of their plans, even if I had let my pride 
weaken and let them see that I was a little lonely 
sometimes. 

Of course I knew that I was in Florence to 


96 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


work, and that I was the luckiest girl in the world 
to be there, and I told myself that over and over 
again! But a person’s heart will go on feeling 
just as it wants to — in spite of all the person’s 
reasoning and sense — and I must admit that some 
of those hours after dinner found me — well, not 
exactly happy. I think I really would have been 
pretty close to the edge of honestly real misery 
if it hadn’t been for my Artist, who was working 
a good deal at night. 

After I’d snapped on my electric light, which 
only lit the center of the great big room and made 
deep shadows behind each piece of furniture and 
turned the corners into inky blotches, I used to 
go to my window. If my artist were working, 
I’d go back to the electric turn, switch it off, and 
then cross the room again, scramble up to sit on 
the sill, rub my shins, for I always seemed to hit 
something in crossing ! and — watch. 

At first, he was painting with a model, and the 
model was a little Italian boy, and that was the 
most fun to see, because the artist’s arranging 
him was interesting. He worked quickly those 
nights, and not very long. . . . Then came his 
working alone, and— what Leslie would have 
called, “Real drama , my dear!” For more than 
once I saw him stand away from his canvas, and 
study it in a way that told me he didn’t think it 
right. . . . And once he dropped his palette on a 


CREAM PUFFS, THE TWILIGHT, AND— 97 

table, flung bimself down in a chair and dropped 
his head in his hands. 

I can’t describe how interested I got in that 
picture and in the artist. I liked him even then — 
which does seem silly — but I did, and although I 
had never seen him enough closely to know his 
face, nor, of course, the picture, I felt that I must 
go tell him that it was fine, and that he mustn’t 
be discouraged! I reached the point — and after 
only a little time of looking into his work room — 
of talking half aloud, and saying all the things I 
wanted to say right to him. 

“It’s really good,” I would say, “you mustn’t 
get discouraged ! What do you do with that stick 
you hold?” 

Of course he didn’t answer, but it helped me, 
and I will say here that when any one is misera- 
ble from thinking of the kind of noise that they 
are used to at home, and the way their mother 
looks when she sits by the table with the drop 
light on it, mending, it is a good thing to get really 
interested in some one else! I know. I speak 
from experience ! 

That was the way the first week went ; the sec- 
ond one started out with the most interesting 
experience, and it ended with another one — and 
one that I never, at that point, would have im- 
agined could be! But Fate has a great many 
little knots in her threads which make her change 


98 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


the pattern as she weaves, and Viola’s dislike of 
sickness, and being with sick people, made Fate 
pause, then take a stitch and — draw; me close to 
Leslie ! 

I reckoned time, quite naturally, not with the 
start of a calendar week, but from the day that I 
took my lesson. And it was on Wednesday, at 
five on a rainy afternoon, just after my second 
lesson that I came up the Via Tomabuoni all 
alone, stopped to buy three cream puffs, and then 
thought I’d step into the Duomo which almost 
fills the big Piazza del Duomo, and from its dome 
looks not only over all the city but far off to the 
hills. 

It was hazy inside, for incense was floating, but 
the chill of the outside air that had come with the 
rain was gone, and the candles on the big altar 
made a pretty bright yellow blotch in the center 
of all the gray. 

To people who only know churches in America, 
churches in Italy won’t be understood, for Amer- 
icans go to church stiffly, and then hurry off 
criticizing the sermon or complaining about the 
hymns that were sung ; they never would think of 
standing around to talk in church the way the 
Italians do ; or think of going into church carrying 
a live rooster by the feet, or of sitting down in 
the back of a church to eat a loaf of black bread 
and a slice of orange-colored cheese. But the 


CREAM PUFFS, THE TWILIGHT, AND — 99 

Italians do this, and all sorts of informal things, 
and it does make the churches seem very home- 
like and warm, and it ? s nice to go in them. I 
wandered around, and I even thought of eating 
a cream puff, but I decided I wouldn’t because I 
hadn’t been brought up to it, and because it would 
spoil my dinner and because cream puffs some- 
times squeeze out when you bite and I had on 
my best suit, so I carried them in that tender 
way that a person carries cream puffs and enjoyed 
the real Italy that one finds in the churches. 

There was a soldier from the ranks talking with 
his mother — I heard him call her “Madre mia” — 
which means 4 4 Mother of mine,” and she smiled 
up at him until her face looked like a little winter 
apple — it was so full of wrinkles — and kept 
her hand on his arm which she kept patting. 

Near them, on her knees by a confessional — 
which is a little box that looks like a telephone 
booth but really holds a Priest who tries to help 
you, instead of something that squeaks out, 4 4 The 
party doesn’t answer,” — was another sort of 
Italian, a woman who was beautifully dressed, 
and behind her was her maid who wore the gay 
costume of the Roman peasant and who carried 
the beautiful lady’s little white dog. 

Officers stood in groups chatting. Others came, 
dropped to their knees a moment, crossed them- 
selves, and then joined them. 


100 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

And a shabby old man with a lump on his back 
came in, got down to his knees very stiffly, and 
there looked at the altar for a long, long time 
as his lips moved. I don’t know why that made 
my throat feel cramped, because he was getting 
help, and for that moment all of the big church 
was his, and his God was close to him, I know. 
But I did feel a little funny, and so I hurried on, 
to look at a statue by a man named Michael Angelo, 
who died nearly four hundred years ago, but 
whose work is still in style. 

After that I watched a little boy and girl who 
were sitting on a kneeling chair, listened to 
the Priests, who were having a service up by the 
main altar, and then I went out. 

I had been inside quite a little while, I knew, 
after I saw the outdoor light, for it was much 
darker, and the rain less a rain and more a fog. 
The people who hurried across the shining square 
with their funny flat umbrellas, looked like big 
black toadstools, and all the lights reflected in the 
puddles, and the bright windows were hazed. 

I didn’t want to put up my umbrella, because 
I love the feeling of a little moisture on my cheeks 
when I walk fast and get hot, but I had my cream 
puffs, and my best suit on, and so I did. And 
oh, how lucky it was that I did, for if I hadn’t — 
but that comes later. 

I went down the steps, and across the Piazza 


CREAM PUFFS, THE TWILIGHT, AND— 101 

del Duomo, keeping my eye out for the trams, 
(they call street cars ‘ ‘ trams ’ ’ in Florence) the 
cabs with their shouting, huddled up drivers, and 
the purring motors, and I turned down the street 
that would take me past the English Pharmacy, 
for I needed a toothbrush. 

On this I had gone along a few feet when I saw 
a man ahead of me who swayed. I was quite used 
to seeing drunken men at home, but I wondered 
about him ; and when I remembered that Mr. Wake 
said the Italians never drank too much, I won- 
dered whether he was ill. 

But I only wondered idly, as you do wonder 
on streets about things you pass, and I might 
have passed him if he hadn’t, as I was beside him, 
suddenly clutched the handle of my umbrella just 
below the place I held it. Then he stood swaying, 
and looking down at me with eyes that were glazed 
and seemed close to sightless, as he said, “I beg 
pardon, Madam, I do — humbly beg — your pardon, 
I — ” 

And then he moistened his lips, and stopped, 
and I saw that he was really very ill. 

I closed my umbrella, because once at home I 
saw a country-woman try to go through the re- 
volving doors of our First National Bank with 
her umbrella up, and it impressed me with the 
fact that you can’t use umbrellas very skilfully 
if you are trying, with both hands, to do some- 


102 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

thing else. And I got it down just in time , for the 
tall man was swaying, and he needed all the help 
I gave him and — more ! 

“Sit down on this step,” I said, and I put my 
hand under his arm to guide him. 

After he was down, his head rolled limply to 
one side and then dropped back against the wall, 
his eyes closed, and when I spoke to him he didn’t 
answer. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 
ENTER— SAM DEANE! 

1 KNEW lie had fainted, but I spoke to him 
again to make sure, and I even laid my hand 
on his shoulder and shook him a little. Then I 
put my umbrella on the step, and my bag of cream 
puffs on that, and began to sop my handkerchief in 
the least dirty looking puddle that I could find. 
And all the time I did this I frowned just as hard 
as I could at two little Italian boys who had 
paused to look on, and I said “Basta!” very 
fiercely, but they didn’t go on; instead they stood 
eating their chestnut paste and chattering with the 
greatest excitement. And soon their lingering 
proved a help to me, for their noise made an old 
lady pause. She had a tray of combs and hair- 
pins, that were studded with rhinestones and red 
glass, hung from her shoulder by a wide tape, 
and after she had studied the situation, she slipped 
the tape down over her arm, set her tray on the 
dryest spot she could find, and squatted before my 
charge and began to rub his hands. And while 
she did this she talked loudly and quickly at me 
until I was so confused that I lost all the use and 
103 


104 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

understanding of the thirty or forty Italian words 
that I really did know. 

Then a shopkeeper who wore a long, once white 
apron and who was chewing a toothpick came 
along and stopped, and he asked questions, and the 
old lady and the little hoys all answered at once, 
and made their arms go like hard-working, ener- 
getic windmills as they answered. Then two sol- 
diers in their olive drab came along, and they 
paused and wanted to know what was wrong, and 
the little boys and the old lady and the shop- 
keeper answered them, and they stood talking. 
And then a well dressed man of, I should say, 
the middle class, saw our group, and joined it, 
and he wanted to know what was up, and when 
he was answered it sounded exactly like the point 
in a ball game where the home team makes the 
first run made, in the last half of the tenth inning. 

And I suppose it must have been funny, but it 
didn’t seem so to me then. The man had been 
unconscious for so long that I was very, very 
much worried, and I didn’t know what to do ! 

And when still another man paused and asked 
the important question, and the whole thing was 
enacted again with even more enthusiasm, and 
more noise, I felt as if I were absolutely ma- 
rooned. There was something very dreadful 
about those few moments during which I needed 
help so badly and had no way of asking for it. 


ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


105 


The last man to join the volunteers stepped 
forward and I saw that he was an officer of the 
Infantry, and he looked as dapper as they always 
do in spite of the fact that mud was on his gleam- 
ing hoots and that some passing cart or motor 
had evidently splashed mud up on a corner of his 
wide blue cape. 

He bared his head and bowed to me, and then 
held out a little coral charm that looked like a 
horn, and which I found later are carried by mil- 
lions of Italians as talismans against all sorts of 
evil. 

He waved this and just at that moment the tall 
thin man happened to open his eyes ; I heard the 
little crowd gasp, and then I saw them bow their 
heads and cross themselves quickly — and the lit- 
tle boys got chestnut paste on their blouses by 
their doing this — and then there was even higher, 
shriller, faster chatter, and through this my charge 
spoke. 

“What’s — the row!” he asked weakly. 

“You fainted,” I answered. 

“Fool thing to do,” he said, and he tried to get 
up, but the trying made him so dizzy that he had 
to sink back again, and then he closed his eyes 
as people do when they are confronted by a whirl- 
ing world that has black spots before it. 

“We have lots of time,” I assured him, and 
just as gently as I could, for I did feel so sorry 


106 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

for him. And then I turned to the Italians, and 
said “Grazie, grazie l” as hard as I could, and 
bowed as if the affair were quite over, and all 
of them except the little boys drifted away. After 
that I reached down and put my fingers on the sick 
man’s wrist, and when I located his pulse I found 
that it was pretty slow and that made me ask 
the elder of the two boys — in two languages, and 
five waves — if he could get a glass of water. 
And that made him nod and lay down his slab of 
chestnut paste by my patient on the step, and that 
told me a story. And I never in my life have felt 
so badly, or so sorry for any one, as I did when 
I began to understand. 

For the sick man looked at that nibbled little 
slab, and moistened his lips, and then he looked 
away. And then he looked at it again, and 
shifted his position, and once he even reached out 
toward it, and then he sat back and for a mo- 
ment covered his eyes. 

And I knew right then why those cream puffs 
had beckoned me from the window of the gay 
pastry shop! I opened the bag. ~ 

“ Sometimes,’ ’ 1 said, * ‘ when I’m faint, I eat; it 
takes the blood away from your stomach or puts 
it there, or something.” And honestly, Roberta 
couldn’t have said it any better ! 

Well, he took one, and he tried to eat it slowly, 
but he couldn’t. After he finished it, he said, 


ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


107 


‘ 1 Thank you ever so much — I believe I must have 
missed my lunch — I sometimes get interested in 
work — ” and then he paused and looked down at 
the hag. 

“It’ll take more than one to help you,” I said, 
“you were awfully faint — ” 

But he shook his head. “No,” he answered, 
decidedly, ‘ 1 but thank you — and so much — you got 
those for yourself, and I’m afraid I’ve spoiled 
your party now — you have been most hind — ” 
and then he drank the water the little boy had 
brought, said a few words of thanks in Italian, 
and sat looking before him. I had settled by him 
on the step, and sitting there wasn’t bad, for the 
rain had turned to so gentle a mist that it was 
little more than a fog, and it was getting so dark 
that the passing venders thought we were only 
natives, and so they didn’t bother us to buy lumpy 
looking statuettes or postcards or rhinestone 
combs. The open-faced shops sent out shafts of 
light that were so dulled by the haze that they 
looked strained, and I can’t exactly explain but 
it was sort of cozy and nice in spite of the damp- 
ness, and pretty too. 

After a little time my sick friend turned. “You 
must get on, ’ ’ he stated. 

“I’m not in any hurry,” I answered. 

“But it’s getting late for you,” he said as he 
looked down. I liked his face even then. Later, 


108 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Leslie said he wasn’t handsome, and she said that 
the only two really handsome men she had ever 
seen were Ben Forbes ( and he has a pink wart on 
his chin!) and Wallace Reid ; hut I think that kind 
eyes and a good month and a firm chin make a 
man handsome, and I stick to it that Sam is. 

“I’m going to take you home,” I stated, very 
seriously, and my friend laughed and then I knew 
him; for I had heard him laugh in that happy, 
quick way as he leaned out of a studio window 
that looked into our court and answered the sal- 
lies of Gino, who was rubbing his brasses down 
below. 

“You are a dear and kind little soul,” he said 
after the laugh faded, “but that tickled me; you 
are about four feet long, aren’t you? And I’m 
a perfect telegraph pole, and pretty heavy. Any- 
way — ” he had grown very serious, “do you 
think I am going to let you bother any more with 
me? You’ve wasted too much time now, and — 
what’s more important — one of your lovely cream 
puffs — ” and after he said that he looked at the 
bag again, looked away quickly, and swallowed 
hard. 

I knew I had to do something to make him let 
me help him, because I could see that he was 
stiff-necked, and that he intended to be inde- 
pendent, and so I said — and rather softly because 
I was embarrassed — “But T owe you lots — 99 


ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


109 


He said, “How come?” and turned again to 
look down at me, and I told him, and as I told him 
he listened hard, and once — of course I must have 
been mistaken — I thought his eyes filled. 

“Well,” he said, after I finished, “Well” and 
then, “You poor little chap!” 

“Oh,” I said, “I'm all right now, but you see 
you helped me when I was unhappy and so it’s no 
more than fair that I should take you home, and — 
and — share my cream puffs — ” 

Then an old lady who carried a scaldino — which 
is a funny little stove that stands on legs and 
looks like a stewpot — came out of the door, and 
we stood up. 

‘ ‘ Can you move ? ” I asked anxiously. 

“You bet I can ” I heard, “I feel great! Come 
on, little friend — ” 

“You take my arm,” I ordered, and he did. 
And he insisted upon carrying the umbrella too, 
which we didn’t open, and every once in a while 
he leaned down so he could look under my hat, and 
then he would say, “You say you aren’t home- 
sick any more ? ’ ’ 

And I’d say, “No, not any more — ” 

And he’d answer with, “That’s right. . . . You 
mustn’t be unhappy, you know ! You just mustn’t 
be that!” 

We walked in an awfully funny way, because 
his stride was miles long, and of course mine had 


110 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


to be short. And when he tried to shorten his 
stride, it made him teeter like a J apanese official — 
I know about these because our choral society 
gave The Mikado two years ago — while if I tried 
to accommodate my step to his I looked as if I 
were doing the bent knee walk the twins do, that 
lowers their bodies and shortens their legs and 
looks awfully funny; and they always do it back 
of Roberta when she is all dressed up and starts 
out to do her fancy calling. 

So we hobbled and hitched along, and suddenly 
I laughed, and he laughed too, and then we were 
even better friends. It is strange, and very nice, 
I think, how laughter does this. 

“My name is Sam Deane,’ ’ he announced, after 
our laughter had trailed off into a silence that 
had lasted past two fruit stores and a wine shop, 
“what is yours, if I may be so bold as to ask?” 

“Plain Jane Jones,” I answered. “I think 
yours is a really nice name ! ’ ’ And then he told 
me that his wasn’t half as nice as mine, which 
was mere kindness, because there is nothing ro- 
mantic or fancy about Jane or Jones; but, as Fa- 
ther said, there could be no Clytemnestras in a 
flock that was handicapped by the last name he 
gave us ! 

Then we reached the corner that would take us 
to the row of houses that backed on our court, 
and here we turned, and as we neared his house I 


mmm® 



“My name is Sam Deane/’ he announced. 










ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


Ill 


kept getting more and more nervous, because I 
wanted to say something, and I didn’t know how 
to say it. That is a feeling that most women do 
not understand, but it comes to me often. 

Mr. Sam Deane helped me, because I think he 
wanted to say something that he couldn’t say; 
anyway, we stood for quite a few minutes before 
his door, and then suddenly he said, “I am a dolt; 
I intend to see you around the block, of course; 
it’s much too late for you to walk alone.” 

“You are just what you said you were,” I in- 
terrupted. “I’ve spent an hour getting you here ; 
it would be too silly for you to try that! I’m go- 
ing to take you up to your room, too — ” 

“No,” he answered, “really, Little Miss Jane 
Jones, you’re not. I’ll call Gino. The other 
wouldn’t do at all!” Then his tone changed and 
he ended with, “How am I ever going to thank 
you?” 

“Oh, it was nothing,” I answered, and I looked 
down at the spot between the bricks that I was 
poking with the umbrella I had just recaptured. 
He laughed, but not as I had ever heard him laugh 
before; this was a tight, short laugh that didn’t 
seem as if it had much mirth in it. 

“Well, just as you will have it,” he stated, “but 
— 1 know.” 

“Mr. Deane,” I said, “will you please take my 
cream puffs?” 


112 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


He said, “No, my dear.” Said it with his chin 
set and his head high. 

I waited for a moment, looking up at him. 
“ Won’t you please ?” I said, and I was perfectly 
amazed ; my voice shook. 

“You know I’m hungry, don’t you?” he asked 
stiffly. 

I nodded, “That’s the reason I’m trying to give 
them to you,” I explained. “I don’t need them; 
Miss Julianna always gives us nice meals, and I 
only got them for diversion. I thought I’d eat 
them coming home because Mr. Paggi makes me 
nervous, but I’d forgotten my best suit, and that 
I had to carry an umbrella — and that made eating 
them difficult — ” I paused, and looked up to see 
that my new friend wasn’t looking over my head 
any more, but down at me. 

“It’s a devil of an agent who is making my 
trouble,” he confided, “he gave me an order, and 
now — try as hard as I may — I can ’t make the thing 
suit him; and I can’t tell now whether he’s right, 
or whether he wants to revoke the order and is 
doing it by finding fault. You see, I can’t see the 
thing straight any more — ” 

Suddenly I thought of Mr. Wake, who knows a 
great deal about pictures, and I felt that he would 
help Sam Deane; I was sure of it. It made me 
smile. “I know,” I said, “that things will change 
soon — ” 


ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


113 


Then Sam Deane said something that was kind, 
but of course nonsense. He said, ‘ ‘ They have 
changed; you — you’ve made them — ” 

I poked the hole between the bricks after I said 
thank you, and then I realized that it must be get- 
ting late, and that I would be late for dinner if I 
didn’t hurry, so I held out the bag. 

“1 would take them from you,” I said, and 
after a second of hesitation he took them. He 
didn’t thank me at all; but he clamped the bag of 
cream puffs under his arm — he must have had to 
scrape them off the paper when he came to eat 
them — and then he put both his hands around my 
un-umbrellaed hand, and for a minute held it very 
tightly. 

“I — can’t say anything,” he said in a funny, 
jerky way. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” I answered. And he 
laughed a little, and he did that in a jerky way 
too. Then he said, “You turn on your light, and 
switch it on and off three or four times, will you, 
when you get in? I’ll want to know that you’re 
all right.” 

“I will,” I promised. 

“And look here, you won’t be homesick, will 
you?” 

“No,” I promised. Then I said “Good-night,” 
and he said “Good-night,” and I went off down 
the street. At the corner I looked back to see him 


114 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

still on the step and watching me, and that made 
me nervous, because people catch cold easily when 
they aren’t well, and he should have known it. 
And furthermore, there wasn’t the least neces- 
sity of his watching me, because I had often been 
out later than that by myself and I was quite safe. 

In the Pension I hurried to my room, and took 
off my hat and coat and switched my light off and 
on several times as I had promised, and from 
across the court I had a fast-flashed answer. 

Then I went out to dinner where Mr. Hemming- 
way was telling of his first trip in a yawl — what- 
ever that is — which had been in the spring of 1871, 
or 1872, he had a fearful time remembering which ; 
and where Miss Bannister was telling of the crum- 
pets that they had had for tea when the gentry 
came during the years of her girlhood ; and where 
Miss Meek was making sniff-prefaced remarks 
about people who made their money overnight in 
America — this was for Leslie’s benefit — and where 
Beata was to be seen, again with eyelids that were 
puffed from tears. 

After dinner as I played Canfield in the dining 
room with Miss Meek looking on and saying, 
“ That’s the way to it! Now smack the queen on 
the king jolly quick!” I thought of all the unfin- 
ished stories I had around me. 

First there was Miss Sheila, whose love story 
had been unhappy. 


ENTER— SAM DEANE! 


115 


Then there was Mr. Wake, and I felt certain that 
he had a long story tangled in the years that he 
had passed. 

Leslie came next ; Leslie who had cared enough 
for this Ben Forbes man to come to Florence in 
order to show him that she was not what he had 
said she was. 

And Viola, who for some reason was making 
a pretense of studying when she really hated work. 

Beata followed, Beata whose tie-knitting had 
ceased, and who cried as she did her dusting or 
scraped the carrots. 

And I had added, just that evening, another 
one, and that was Sam Deane, who was hungry, 
and who was fighting, and who needed help. 

All of them had stories and all of the stories 
seemed most interesting, to me. I, I realized, 
hadn’t any story, but I didn’t really need it, while 
there was so much activity and romance for every 
one around me. 

Before I undressed, I wrote Mr. Wake a long 
letter about Sam Deane, and I said that I was 
sorry to trouble him, but that I did want his help, 
and that Sam Deane lived on the third floor of the 
building that backed ours, which would be good 
for reducing Mr. Wake’s stomach. And then I 
signed myself most affectionately and admiringly 
his, and closed and addressed and stamped my 
letter. 


110 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

Then I got Beata to take it out. I found her 
sitting before the wall shrine and looking at it 
dully. 

“It must go quickly — 99 I said. And she said 
something of sweethearts and love, which was, of 
course, all off, but I hadn’t the time nor ability 
to explain and so I let it go ; and then I went back 
to my room and undressed and went to bed. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 
BARK CLOUDS 

T HE days that followed were dark and gloomy; 

the cold crept inside and every one was un- 
comfortable and almost every one cross. Some- 
times I think that the weather really makes all the 
history, and certainly if it hadn’t been damp Les- 
lie wouldn’t have been sick with a cold; and if she 
hadn’t had a cold she wouldn’t have quarreled 
with Viola; and if Viola and she hadn’t quar- 
reled, Viola wouldn’t have told Miss Meek all 
about Leslie’s heart affair; and if Viola hadn’t 
confided it to Miss Meek, then Viola and Leslie 
might have patched up their difference long before 
they did. All this happened in the course of two 
dragging, rough-surfaced days, during which no 
one was happy. And I contend that the strain 
started from the clouded skies, and the chill which 
crept in to cling to the floors and live boldly in 
the passages. 

Friday afternoon I slipped a slicker over my 
everyday suit, which is a belted tweed, and pulled 
a plain little felt hat low, and started out. It was 
raining miserably, but I thought that I could shake 

117 


118 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


off the queer, unpleasant weight that I felt inside, 
if I walked hard, for I had done that before. But 
everything conspired to hinder me. 

I suppose every one has pictures that they col- 
lect without meaning to ; funny, little pictures that 
live in their minds and spring up at odd moments ; 
and pictures that sometimes come, with time, to 
bring back no more than the feeling of the long 
forgotten day when the particular picture hung 
itself up inside. 

Cats that step reluctantly and pick up their 
feet in their wet-hating, curly way, will, I know, 
always take me back to the damp air of that after- 
noon when I walked down past the fish market to 
the Piazza del Duomo, where the cobbles shone 
in the wet and reflected the bobbing umbrellas, 
and where, instead of the usual chattering crowds, 
there were empty spaces, which was bound to give 
a feeling of loneliness to any one who knew and 
loved the Florence of sunny days. 

I went through this and down past the Loggia 
dei Lanzi, where there were no stalls or no hand 
trucks heaped with flowers, and then through the 
court-like street that divides the two upper floors 
of the big Uffizi Gallery, on under the little pas- 
sageway that connects these, and then along the 
balustraded walk that overlooks the Arno. 

It is lovely to walk by this river in the sunlight, 
because then there are women down below, on the 


DARK CLOUDS 


119 


shallow strips of beach that crop up here and 
there, who wash clothes by beating them on stones 
with stones, and who sing and joke, or call 
scornful taunts at each other, as they work. But 
this day it was empty save for a little boy who sat 
in the stern of a moored boat and fished — I sup- 
pose with a bent pin on his string — just as his little 
American brother might do in my own land. 

After I had walked toward the Grazia Bridge, 
and crossed the street to see something I thought 
pretty in one of the windows of the shops, I turned 
and went back toward the Ponte Vecchio, which 
means “The Old Bridge,’ ’ and as I walked across 
this I considered what I would buy to take home 
to Mother, Father, Roberta and the twins. 

I did this because the bridge is lined with little 
shops that have windows that twinkle from the 
gold and silver they hold and the gleaming of all 
the stones I had ever heard of and many, many 
more. 

Then — and with the weighted, unpleasant feel- 
ing still with me — I turned in the direction that 
would take me home, and hurried as quickly as I 
could because the rain was coming down faster 
and it was coming on the slant. 

The people in the shops I passed were idle, 
and the women huddled up with the stewpot little 
stoves they call scaldinoes tucked under their feet 
and skirts. They still sat in their doorways al- 


120 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

though a real storm raged, and I learned that day, 
truly, that most of Italy does live in the street. 

As I turned in the Via Nazionale, which is our 
street and becomes the Piazza Indipendenza as 
soon as it reaches the park, I saw, through an 
open door, a piece of stove pipe that stood on four 
legs and had a curling little chimney at one end, 
and that made me smile a little, for the original 
pattern was invented by an American sea captain 
who wintered in Florence and almost died of the 
cold; and the stoves — which Mr. Wake says get 
much hotter than the infernal regions ever could 
— are called “American pigs.” 

I found the hall very, very dark, and after I had 
climbed the stairs and got in the Pension corridor 
I found that that also was dark, and then Miss 
Julianna came along, switched on the lights, and 
through that I heard Beata ’s story. 

“She is ashamed,” said Miss Julianna, “to have 
you see the cry on her cheek.” 

I said I was sorry, as Beata, who had been sit- 
ting in the half light by a table, lowered her head 
and looked away. 

“It is sad,” Miss Julianna agreed, “the good 
girl, Beata! She loves very much, and also has 
love give to her, but has not the dowry! And 
you know here it is necessary.” 

“Can’t she earn it?” I asked. 

“She had save some, but her small brother, 


DARK CLOUDS 


121 


Giuseppe, walks of the crutch, and could be made 
well ; for him she give her money that was saved. 
No, Beata!” she ended, after adding a string of 
Italian that was too quickly spoken for me to 
follow. 

Beata nodded, and she spoke quickly, and then 
she sobbed. 

“She say,” said Miss Julianna, “that she is 
happy and would do again, but her heart, poor 
little foolish one ! Her heart go on loving when 
it should now stop! It is sad! No, Signorina!” 

I thought it was l And I went over by Beata 
and patted her shoulder. It did seem unfair for 
her to be unhappy, because she was always so 
pleasant and kind. 

“The Signorina Parrees7& is more bad of the 
throat,” went on Miss Julianna; “I went in; she 
say, ‘How glad to die, I would be!’ also you have 
the letter — here — ” 

I took the letter with a good deal of hope that 
trickled off into nothing as I saw dear Miss 
Sheila’s writing. It had been over a week since I 
had heard from home, and it seemed much longer 
than it was. Of course I was glad to hear from 
Miss Sheila, but I needed a letter from Mother, 
all full of an account of the things the twins had 
done, and who was calling on Roberta that night, 
and who was sick, and how many appendixes 
Daddy had taken out, and what they’d had for 


122 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

dinner, and how the geraniums were doing, and 
how Marshal Foch — who is our canary — was al- 
most through molting. 

That was what I needed and so I had to swal- 
low hard several times before I opened Miss 
Sheila’s letter — I had thought surely the letter 
was from Mother — and after I opened it I swal- 
lowed harder, for the twins had contracted diph- 
theria — as they did everything, together — and 
Miss Sheila said that Mother wouldn’t be able to 
write for some time. Mother had telegraphed her 
and asked her to write me and to keep me in- 
formed. 

Well, after I stood around a minute looking 
down at the page the way you do when it holds 
something you’d rather not see, I went along the 
corridor to my room, and in there, I sat down in 
the cold, and wondered whether the twins were 
very sick, and then I thought of the times I’d 
been cross to them, and then I wondered whether 
Mother could get it — and I had to swallow aw- 
fully hard over that, and then — I thought of Fa- 
ther. And I got up very quickly and squared my 
shoulders, and took off my coat, and put it over 
a chair to dry, and hung my hat on the bed post, 
and went off down the corridor to Leslie’s room, 
for Father had no use for people who are not 
sports . It helped me to remember that. 

Leslie was sitting up with her feet in a tub of 


DARK CLOUDS 


123 


hot water, and she had on a chin strap that tied on 
top of her head in a funny little how, and she was 
crying. I was sorry for her, and sorrier for my- 
self, and we were both miserable, but she looked 
funny. I saw it even then. 

4 ‘Always — wear this when — I’m alone,’ ’ she 
said thickly and in jerks. (She was talking about 
the rubber strap that was jacking up her chin.) 
“Mother — has a double — chin and — the blood just 
drains from my heart when I look — every time 1 
look at her !” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it to-day,” I advised. 
Then I asked her whether I could get her any- 
thing. She shook her head, and then she spoke. 

“Viola told Miss Meek everyting Vd ever told 
her,” she said, “all about Ben Forbes saying I was 
idle, and a p-parisite. Don’t you think that was 
mean?” 

I did. And I said so. 

She sniffed, and then suddenly, she hid her face 
in her arm and began to cry hard. 

“I wish — ” she whimpered, “I were — dead — ” 

And then I got her story. 

This Benjamin Forbes had lived next door to 
the Parrishes in New York, and he did until Les- 
lie was eighteen, which was the year before she 
“came out,” (whatever that is) anyway, he used 
to help Leslie with her lessons, and take her to 


124 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

the Zoo and riding in the park, and he bought her 
candy, (the hard, healthy variety that comes in 
jars and is no good, but the only sort she was per- 
mitted to eat, and she said she appreciated the 
fact that his intentions were kind) and he even 
used to go to the dentist’s with her while she was 
having her teeth straightened. 

Well, she said that he never thought of her ex- 
cept as a little girl, but that she adored him, and 
that one night when she was at a fudge party at 
boarding school — and she was only sixteen at the 
time — when the other girls were discussing and 
planning their husbands, she, Leslie, suddenly 
knew what sort she wanted, and that the sort was 
Ben. 

And she placed him on an altar then, (I quote; 
for Leslie’s style is not mine) and she never 
wavered once although she had much attention 
paid to her, and had had two and a half proposals 
— the half coming from the fact that her father 
plunked right in the center of the third one, and 
evicted the suitor, who left in such agitation that 
he went without his hat. (Leslie kept it for a 
souvenir) However, to get on, Mr. Forbes’ 
younger brother wasn’t strong, and so Mr. Forbes 
bought a ranch and went out there, and he liked it 
and they stayed. 

He came back after four years, and offered to 
take Leslie to the Hippodrome , which showed he 


DARK CLOUDS 


125 


didn’t know she had grown np, but she suggested 
a Russian play instead, and he took her there, hut 
she said she could see he didn’t enjoy it, and that 
he was not pleased with her having matured and 
that he rather resented it, and he didn’t seem to 
know how to talk to her, and he acted baffled, and 
she said that, as he groped, and unconsciously 
showed his disappointment, every dream and hope 
of hers was scattered in the dust . (I am quoting 
Leslie again) Well, he left after he had been in 
New York a week, but the night before he left 
Leslie asked him frankly why he didn’t like her, 
(she told him that she could see he didn’t) and 
then he admitted that he was a little disappointed. 

“I like girls,” he said, “who can work, and 
who don ’t make playing their only work. All you 
can do is go to teas and poppycock parties, now 
isn’t it?” (She said he was gentle, but that he 
told her all he felt) 

“You can’t,” he went on, “even play the piano 
as well as you did at fourteen; you can’t keep 
house, can you?” (And Leslie couldn’t) “And 
it seems to me,” he ended, “that you are content 
to be a pretty little parasite, and that disappoints 
me.” 

And his saying that sent her to Florence, and 
it started, she said, a ceaseless ache in her heart. 
And the ache grew too large to keep hidden, and 
Leslie confided in Viola ; and Viola, in an effort to 


126 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

make Miss Meek realize that Leslie was away out 
of her natural placing, told Miss Meek that Les- 
lie’s broken heart had led her to seek the solace 
of work in these humble surroundings. And 
Viola’s talking to Miss Meek was made by the 
fact that Viola hated sickness, couldn’t bear being 
with people who were sick, and — had to talk to 
some one. 

In that way the confidence became a triangle, 
and it ended as such triangles usually do — where 
it started — for Miss Meek came in to Leslie’s 
room and boomed out, “Oho, Miss Smarty! The 
Queen didn’t rule every one now, did she? And 
I’ll say jolly lucky for the Forbes man at that!” 
(Miss Meek dislikes Leslie) 

And when Viola appeared later, and said, from 
the doorway, ‘ ‘ Darling, is there anything I can do 
for you?” Leslie answered, “You can try to keep 
your mouth shut!” and then I think they had a 
row, although Leslie says that people of her sta- 
tion never row. It seemed like one to my simple 
nature, though, and during the course of it Leslie 
told Viola that her people were “nobodies” and 
that Mrs. Parrish hadn’t been “at all pleased” 
when she heard of Viola’s going, and that she, 
Leslie, now knew it was a “climber’s scheme”; 
and then Viola said that Leslie considered herself 
more important than she was, and that money 
wasn’t anything, and that now she knew that so- 


DARK CLOUDS 


127 


ciety was a “ hollow sham,” since people like Les- 
lie could masquerade as paragons or paramounts, 
or something like that — I sort of forget — in it. 

And then they both cried, and Viola slammed 
the door as she left, and that started it — which was 
a feud that lasted until Viola had a trouble that 
was big enough to make even Leslie forgive her 
the things that she had said, on that rainy day 
that backed so many unpleasant happenings. 

After I left Leslie, I went to my own room and 
stood by the window looking across the court. 
. . . There was no light in my artist’s window 
and there had been no sign of any life in the big 
room since the evening that followed my taking 
him home. 

Mr. Wake had sent me a little note that read : 
* 1 Sam Deane is all right now. Will report on 
Saturday.” But that didn’t tell me whether long 
Sam Deane had gone on to another part of the 
country or to another land or was still in Florence, 
and, somehow, it didn’t seem to satisfy me. 

I wondered a lot as I stood there, and I realized 
that I had hoped — really without knowing it — that 
I’d see that tall Deane man again. But his rooms 
were empty and dark, and it was raining, and a 
swinging sign somewhere in the neighborhood pro- 
tested in high shrill squeaks as the wind pushed it 
back and forth, and the twins had diphtheria, and 
I had been so cross to them sometimes, and they 


128 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


were so dear, and poor Beata had lost her sweet- 
heart, and Leslie was crying, and Viola angry and 
miserable — and — I did want to wander out into 
our big, yellow-walled kitchen and say “What are 
you going to have for supper, Mother V ’ — and to 
know that they were all — every one of them — all 
right. 

The court was growing very dark, and the shad- 
ows were gloomy. The rain was caught by a 
swooping wind and swished against the windows 
and ran down the panes in rivulets. And just 
after that the Pension bell jangled loudly, and I 
thought of the twins and of cablegrams, and when, 
after a long, long tightly stretched moment or 
two, some one tapped on my door, I had to moisten 
my lips before I could even half whisper, 
“Come—” 

And then — 

Oh, well — there is always, always , blue back of 
the gray! But somehow, when one is far from 
home and it rains hard, you sort of forget it ! 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

A PATCH OF BLUE SKY 


I T was Beata who had tapped on my door, and 
after my weak-kneed ‘ 4 Come — ” she opened it 
and came in, and as she crossed the floor to reach 
me she held out a lavender striped box that was 
tied with silver cord. I took it, and it did seem to 
me that the silver cord would never come untied — 
I suppose because I was so excited — but at last I 
got the knot out and the cover off, and I saw a 
bunch of big purple violets that smelled of earth 
and of their own soft, sweet perfume. I couldn’t 
believe they were for me! I had never had violets 
sent to me before. 

But they were for me, and after Beata, who had 
lingered from interest and frankly looked on, said, 
“Signorina, la carte!” I picked up the envelope 
that was in the bottom of the box, and read on it, 

‘‘For 

“Miss ‘Plain Jane Jones’ ” 

and then I tore that open and read the letter. It 
was from Sam Deane and it said: 

“Dear Little Good Samaritan: 

“Lots of luck has come to me — and may I say, bless 
129 


130 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

you? 1 think 1 must l I can't return the cream puffs, 
for somehow or other I mislaid the ones you loaned me, 
and I’m afraid I can't match them. 

“I would like to say lots, but your Mr. Wake is look- 
ing over my shoulder and telling me that you are a dear 
little girl— and don’t I know it?— hut, dragons or not, 
I am going to be your friend, if you will let me. 

“Mr. Wake wonders whether you will go walking with 
him, Saturday. He says he will call for you at three 
and return you when his waist line is sufficiently re- 
duced. 

“I can’t say thank you for all you have done for me; 
some day I will try to tell you how I feel, and I will 
show you always, by being 

“Your sincere and devoted friend, 

“Sam Deane." 


I liked that letter. 

“Beata,’’ I said, “aren’t they lovely?” 

‘ ‘ Si, si , Signorina ! ' ’ said Beata, and she nodded 
and nodded, and her eyes shone just as if the vio- 
lets were hers. And then I went to stand before 
the glass, and place them the way girls do, and I 
was so excited that I stuck the violet pin right 
through my corset into my stomach, but nothrng 
mattered ! I was just awfully happy! I didn’t 
know that violets would make you feel that way, 
hut these did. And Mr. Hemmingway thought 
they were beautiful, and tried very hard to recall 
the first year he ever “sent a lady a posy’’ (hut 
he couldn't remember because he couldn’t remem- 
ber which year he had bought a tan and white 


A PATCH OF BLUE SKY 


131 


striped waistcoat in the Strand or Ludgate Cir- 
cus, of course he couldn’t remember where, and the 
waistcoat buying prefaced the posy giving) and 
Miss Meek said that some man had more sense 
than most of the jolly idiots, and Miss Bannister 
asked me who sent them, and let me answer with- 
out telling me it was one of her deaf days, which 
showed that every one felt kind and interested. 

And so dinner passed, and after dinner I sat 
with Leslie a little while and helped her get in 
bed ; and then brushed my hair while Viola sat in 
my room and told about how Leslie’s grandfather 
had started to make his fortune in pickles — and 
she seemed to be glad of it, I couldn’t see why — 
and then she squeezed my hand, and said that she 
was sorry that she had been so fearfully busy dur- 
ing the first two weeks, and that we must see lots 
of each other now — I suppose because she had 
fought with Leslie, I know I hadn’t changed any 
in that short time — and then she left and so ended 
that day. 

Saturday was clear and everything was washed 
and clean by the rain that had fallen so steadily 
and long. All the roofs were a brighter red and 
the gray and tan houses lightened and the sunlight 
was dazzling, and even the song of Florence — 
which is made by the many, many church and 
monastery bells that mix, and tangle, and float 
across the city to make pretty, skippy tunes — even 


132 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

this song seemed freshened by all the scrubbing 
that the city had undergone. 

I got up quite early and went to my window to 
look out. Gino was whistling as he swept around 
his back door, and talking to his parrot that he 
had brought out with the stand to which it was 
chained. . . . And I looked above him at the big 
window through which I had -so often watched my 
artist, and I realized that Mr. Wake would tell 
me about him that day. . . . And then Beata came 
to call out her gentle, “Buon giorno, Signorina! 
Acqua calda!” 

And I answered, and took in the tall, steaming, 
brass pitcher and began to bathe and dress. 

I practised a lot in the morning, and brushed 
my best suit, which I thought ought to back my 
violets, and then came lunch, and then getting 
into outdoor duds; and at last the Pension bell 
jangled as it swung to and fro in answer to a 
touch from downstairs, and I knew that Mr. Wake 
had come. I went out to the head of the stairs, 
as soon as I heard the bell ring, and called, “Is 
it you, Mr. Wake?” And, when I was answered 
as I wanted to be, I hurried down. 

It was very good to see him, and I stood in the 
doorway with him for several minutes as I told 
him about the twins, (he was sure they weren’t 
very sick) and of Miss Sheila’s promising to 
write me regularly about how things went on, and 


A PATCH OF BLUE SKY 


133 


of Leslie’s bad cold. And then I asked about my 
friend, Sam Deane. 

“Able to take a little nourishment / ’ Mr. Wake 
answered, which I found later was a joke. “I 
have quite a story for you,” he went on, “sup- 
pose we start out and talk on the road. Shall 
we?” 

I nodded, and then blinked as I always did when 
I stepped from the dark, gray-walled hall out into 
the brilliant middle hours of an Italian day. It 
was cheerful outside. The cats — and there are 
millions of them in Florence; every one sets out 
food for them, and no one ever harms them; I 
think they were blessed, and so protected, by some 
Saint beloved of the Florentines — the cats sat 
sunning themselves and washing their ears and 
whiskers, or they strolled without hesitation, and 
planted their feet surely, which shows how quickly 
the sun had worked at drying things. The old 
ladies who always sit in doorways and call to each 
other, huddled less over their scaldinoes, and little 
boys with bare knees ran through the paths in the 
Piazza Indipendenza or spun their tops on the 
pavement on our side of the street. Of course 
officers walked slowly, and little knots of soldiers 
from the ranks collected on corners to talk, and 
pretty Italian girls fluttered past. Every one 
seemed glad to be out, and happy. It was pleasant. 

“Well?” I prompted after we had turned a 


134* A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

corner, and into a street that was, from the white 
walls, simply ablaze with sun. “ Where is Mr. 
Deane ? ’ 9 

“At the Villa Rossa, now, I think,’ ’ Mr. Wake 
answered. 

“ Your house V 9 I said in surprise. 

“Yes, my dear. . . . And very glad I am to 
have him. ... A nice boy, a very fine boy, and I 
needed some one to play the banjo in my garden. 
... I have fountains that look very well in the 
moonlight, and a climbing rose tree that has cov- 
ered one side of my house, and I have marble 
benches, and everything that goes with romance, 
and — not a hint of the real thing. All wrong it 
was ! And so I am glad to have this troubadour 
from Texas — 99 

“I called him that too,” I confessed, “I used 
to like to hear him play — ” 

“And so do I,” Mr. Wake responded, “and 
I imagine he plays remarkably badly. There must 
be ears of love as well as eyes of love . . . .You 
like him?” 

“Oh, very much!” I stated. Mr. Wake smiled 
down at me then — I didn’t know quite why — but 
I liked it ; it gave me something of the same warm 
feeling that came from the almost piercing sun- 
light, and then Mr. Wake took my hand and drew 
my arm through his as he had done before. 

“The devil take Signora Grundy,” he said, “I 


A PATCH OF BLUE SKY 


135 


have no use for her at all, and never had! And 
how — ” (he stopped and coughed and finished with 
a jerk) “is the fairy godmother ?” 

“Very well,” I answered. 

“Some day,” he said, “you’ll describe her to 
me? Faith, and I never will get enough of some 
fairy tales!” 

“I will,” I promised. And then Mr. Wake went 
on to tell me of Sam Deane, and I was glad to 
hear his story. 

Sam Deane, who was twenty-eight, Mr. Wake 
said, had won a traveling scholarship from a well 
known art school in the middle west. This had 
meant a year in Paris and a thousand dollars al- 
lowance beside, and it was given as a reward for 
exceptionally good work. 

Well, Sam Deane had come to Paris and worked 
his year, and then he decided that he wanted what 
Mr. Wake said Sam termed “A go at Rome and 
Florence,” so he packed his suitcase, tucked his 
banjo under his arm and walked most of the way 
to Rome. And Mr. Wake put in the statement 
that Sam was the sort who could get what he 
really wanted, and I said I thought so too, and 
then Mr. Wake smiled down at me again in his 
very pleasant, twinkling, warming way which led 
me to believe that the weather made him feel well, 
too. 

Sam Deane did well in Rome where he looked up 


136 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


some of his fellow workers, and shared a beauti- 
ful studio that was set high in a bit of the old 
Roman City wall. He got some orders and saw 
the place, and he stayed there quite a while and 
began to feel that Fortune was really fond of 
him. 

But in Florence! Oh, that was a different 
story ! 

The haughty city turned her back on him, and 
she closed her long, slim fingers round her gold. 
And Mr. Wake said that Sam had been duped by 
the worst scoundrel of an agent that ever lived, 
and that there was nothing wrong with the pic- 
ture Sam was copying, not in the manner, Mr. 
Wake stated. (He said the subject was ghastly, 
I don’t know why, I thought the little boy would 
have made a pretty picture, but when you are 
educated in Art I don’t believe you want them 
to be pretty) Anyway, the agent kept putting 
Sam off, and making him redo his work, for he 
had a clause in his contract order that let him do 
this. And Mr. Wake said that in this way Signor 
Bianco usually reduced his slaves to such despair 
that they finally let their work go to him for half 
its real worth. 

“Now — ” Mr. Wake ended, as we drew near a 
long building that had medallions all along the 
front of it, made of the same sort of ware that 
I had seen in the fountain up on the Via Nazion- 


A PATCH OF BLUE SKY 


137 


ale, “Now I’m going to take a hand .... And 
I know that with a little boosting and a little 
advica the young man will get along! He has 
the real stuff in him. Some of his sketches made 
me think of the early work of Davies. Going to 
keep him with me until he gets a hold, and longer if 
he’ll stay. Nice boy, fine hoy. . . . Look ahead 
of you, Jane, my child. . . . You see the round, 
blue and white plaques up there ? Copied all over 
the world, those little white babies with their legs 
wrapped in swaddling clothes. They were made 
by della Robbia back in the fourteenth century.” 

I thought that was wonderful, and so different 
from our modern art, because if you were to hang 
up a Henry Hutt picture, even indoors, I don’t 
believe it would last fifty years. 

I said this to Mr. Wake, who entirely agreed 
with me. Then he told me that one of the reasons 
that the Italians made such beautiful things was 
that they took a long time to doing it. A man 
named Orcagna who is dead — it is discouraging 
to think that every one who is great seems to have 
to be dead a long, long time — this man worked 
thirty years on a shrine that is in a church called 
Or San Michele. (It is a beautiful shrine of marble 
and silver and precious stones and lovely little 
carved figures) And Giotto died before his tower 
was finished — it looks like a slim lily where it 
stands by the side of the big fat Duomo — and Ra- 


138 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


phael was killed by working too bard over his pic- 
tures, and wasn’t allowed to marry because the 
Pope thought he should give all of his time to his 
work, which seems so sad to me. ... I kept 
thinking for a long time, after Mr. Wake told me 
that, of how Raphael’s sweetheart must have felt 
when Raphael was buried at thirty-seven, for that 
isn’t so very old, after all. 

As we stood there talking I saw Viola coming 
toward us, and after I had spoken quickly to Mr. 
Wake, I called to her, because I knew she was 
lonely. 

“This is Viola,” I said to Mr. Wake, “her last 
name is Harris-Clarke, you say them both,” and 
then I added, to Viola, “We’re going to see this 
church. Do you want to go with us?” 

“But how charming !” she murmured, “and this 
is Mr. Wake, of whom I have heard most pleasant 
things?” 

Mr. Wake bowed from the waistline, but he 
didn’t seem especially pleased, or at all excited 
over the things she had heard of him and that did 
surprise me a lot ! 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


STORIES, MUSIC AND TEA 

T HAT afternoon was pleasant, bnt I don’t 
think that’s the reason I remember it so 
clearly. A good many pleasant sight-seeing walks 
followed that have grown a little dim, even now. 
I think it fastened itself by my beginning to see 
Viola, and a side of her through which she was 
soon to hurt herself so cruelly. I discovered the 
side through a little comment of hers on a paint- 
ing made by Andrea del Sarto, an artist who 
painted in Florence a good deal in the fourteen 
hundreds. They didn’t have any electric signs 
then, and so they used paint instead, and they 
spread this over the churches — both inside and 
out — because they were old fashioned and re- 
ligious. 

After Viola joined us Mr. Wake said, 4 4 The 
building we face, the one that has the della Robbia 
babies smiling down on you from the front of it, 
is a hospital for foundlings — little children whose 
parents die, or for some reason or other don’t 
want them — and it is called the 4 Innocenti,’ which 
means The Innocents, and there, years ago — 
probably some time in 1452 — a little baby who was 

139 


140 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

later called Leonardo da Vinci, found a home. It 
was rather well that he did, wasn’t it? And now 
shall we go into the church?” 

“ Let’s,” I answered, after I had taken a long 
look at the stern looking building that holds inside 
so much that is lovable. And then we went into 
Santissima Annunziata and after we had looked 
at the glittering Chapel of the “Annunciation 
Virgin” and some paintings Mr. Wake told us 
were wonderful, we went on into the cloisters. 

As we got about half way in, Mr. Wake put his 
hand on my arm, drew me to a standstill, and 
Viola followed suit. 

“Look above the door,” said Mr. Wake, and 
we did, to see a pretty picture of Joseph, and 
Mary, and a little boy, who was the small Christ. 
... I liked it very much because it was simple, 
and it made you feel near it. Joseph was leaning 
on a sack of grain, and Mr. Wake said, when he 
spoke, that it was called “The Madonna of the 
Sack” because of that. 

“But,” he said, “the great story lies behind 
the pretty face of the model; for Mary, up there, 
was Andrea’s ambitious, money-loving wife. . . . 
She crept into all his pictures, for she was his 
model, and she made him work like mad to paint 
them, for she was always wanting the things that 
do not count, and the things that do not live ; and 
the money for his pictuures could buy these things 


STORIES, MUSIC AND TEA 141 

for her. . . . And while he worked, she played 
and wore the fine garments that the silk-makers 
guild wove for her. . . . There are millions of 
her, aren’t there? Poor blind, foolish women!” 
he ended. 

“But,” said Viola, “don’t men like to have 
women interested in their work? I’m sure that 
my own dear Father is stimulated by my need for 
pretty things. ’ ’ 

“Surely,” agreed Mr. Wake, “but to be pushed 
beyond strength and to be whined at continually 
is quite a different thing. ... In this case it 
proved to be the killing of the golden goose, for 
Andrea del Sarto did not live to a great age — 
he died at forty-five — and his wife lived on alone 
without her beauty and the love of Andrea, and 
lived long beyond him. . . . It is said that one day, 
many years after Andrea died, an artist who was 
copying that moon shaped picture up there was 
startled by a touch on his shoulder, and he looked 
up to see an old, browned, shriveled hag, who 
smiled down at him a little bitterly. ‘I see,’ she 
said, ‘that you are copying the picture of me 
that my husband painted? — ’ Then perhaps,” Mr. 
Wake added, “she went in and sent a little prayer 
up through the dim ceiling for all of her sisters — 
gone and to come — who think more of money and 
things than they do of love or the comfort of their 
beloved.” 


142 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

We went in again after that, bnt I wasn’t much 
interested in the rest of the church, and it was 
so cold inside and out of the sun that I was glad 
when we stepped outside again and made our way 
toward the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele where there 
was to be a concert given by one of the military 
bands. There was a cluster of gaily uniformed 
band men in its center, and hundreds and hundreds 
of people around them, and at the edges of the 
square people sitting at the tables of the open 
air, outdoor cafes, drinking and eating whatever 
they had ordered. It was very different from 
anything I’d ever seen, and so full of brightness 
and color and a deep, thick sense of enjoyment 
that I don’t know how to describe it. But people 
seemed keyed up by the music, and when the band 
master would stand up before his men and wave 
his baton, every one grew tense, and when the 
music started they listened hard. 

u Suppose,” said Mr. Wake, after we had 
pushed by two of the Bersaglieri, (who are the 
sharp-shooter soldiers that have cock feathers 
drooping from one side of their always tilted, 
theatrical looking hats) “we go sit down, and see 
whether — if we look very wistful — some waiter 
won’t come along, and take an order — ” 

“ Delightful ,” said Viola, who had been getting 
more and more airy as she was more and more 
impressed with Mr. Wake. 


STORIES, MUSIC AND TEA 143 

“I’d like it,” I said, “Pm always hungry, but 
how about your stomach ?” 

“My dear!” Viola put in, in a shocked aside, 
but I paid no attention because it was no time to 
quibble. Mr. Wake was taking me out primarily 
for his stomach , and because he wanted to re- 
duce it, and I didn’t think it would be fair to sit 
and eat and tempt him. 

After Viola said “My dear!” Mr. Wake 
laughed, and patted my shoulder. 

“Always beginning to reduce next week,” he 
said; “like Alice in Wonderland, ‘jam to-morrow 
and jam yesterday, but never jam to-day V And 
don’t you think a little fat softens age? Suits my 
type? — There’s a table ahead of us, grab it, Jane, 
before the gentleman with the many whiskers sits 
down and pretends he is a piece of sage brush — ” 

He did look like sage brush, but the wind blew 
me to the table Mr. Wake wanted before it landed 
the rough, hairy looking person there, and Viola 
and Mr. Wake followed and settled. And then I 
had my first taste of outdoor eating, which is 
very foreign, and which I like so much ! 

Viola and I had strong, bitter chocolate with 
whipped cream on it and French pastries and little 
cakes with nuts in them, and Mr. Wake had wine 
and crackers. And just as our waiter brought 
the order to us, the band struck up “Pizzicato 
Sylvia” and unless you have heard an Italian band 


144 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


play something shortly and sharply, with a snap- 
ping, staccato touch, you have yet to hear music — » 
real music — 

Oh, how I came to love those concerts that were 
scheduled twice a week, all winter long, in one or 
another of the public squares ! 

I couldn’t eat, I could just listen . And Mr. 
Wake smiled at me, and once he put his hand over 
mine, and I turned my hand until my fingers 
could squeeze his. And then I drew a deep breath 
and shook my head because the music made me 
feel that way. And then the band stopped, and 
every one was very quiet for a second, and then 
they clapped and after that laughter and talk rose 
with a perfect whir. 

“ Wasn’t that fine?” I said, as Viola said, “En- 
chanting,” and some one who had been standing 
back of me for some moments, leaned down and 
said softly, “How do you do, to-day, little Miss 
Jones?” 

It was my Sam Deane! 

I was startled, but awfully glad to see him, al- 
though the idea of thanking him for those violets 
before every one made me feel cold and frightened 
and stiff. 

“Miss Harris-Clarke, this is Mr. Sam Deane,” 
said Mr. Wake, “whom I am proud to present to 
you — ” 


STORIES, MUSIC AND TEA 145 

1 1 Delightful, ’ ’ Viola murmured in her smooth 
way, and then Sam bowed and drew up a chair. 

‘‘Will the bottomless pit have something to 
eat?” asked Mr. Wake. And Sam Deane grinned 
at him, and then he said he might consider it. 

‘ 4 What did you draw?” he asked of me, and 
I told him, and he ordered what I had had. 

“I want to write you a little note,” I said. 

“By jings, I want you to,” he answered, and he 
looked at me and smiled in a very kind way. I 
don’t believe there is a nicer man than Sam 
Deane! I liked him right off, and I’ve never 
stopped once since. 

“No one ever sent me any before,” I said in an 
aside, which was easy, because Mr. Wake had 
begun to talk to Viola about the Uffizi Gallery and 
the Belli Arti, which is another gallery. 

“What was the matter with the boys?” Sam 
asked. 

“My sister,” I said, “is really attractive, and 
she always gets them. I like them very much, 
and I was so excited I could hardly get the box 
open. And I’d just heard that the twins were sick 
too, and the violets helped me a lot” 

He didn’t answer, but he sat looking down at 
me and smiling, and I felt as if he would under- 
stand my clumsy thanking him. “I thank you 
ever so much!” I ended. 


146 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


He shook his head, “Nothing,” he answered, 
“it was absolutely nothing. I wanted to buy the 
Pitti Palace and the Boboli gardens and give them 
to you, and throw in the Piazzale Michael Angelo 
for good measure .... Are you — are you going 
to let me be your good friend?” 

“If you really want to be,” I responded, and I 
meant it. 

“I want it more than anything,” he said, in an 
undertone, and then we were quiet. 

“How are you?” I asked, after the silence had 
begun to seem strained. 

“Never have been better,” he answered. “Did 
you know Mr. Wake got me a sale for my boy 
picture straight off? He brought another agent 
in to see it and he took it. We broke the con- 
tract with my old agent. Mr. Wake said I could 
with safety. I don’t know what to say to you. . . . 
Think of what you’ve done for me.” 

“Oh, no,” I disagreed. 

“Oh, yes!” he stated. Then the band began to 
play “the Blue Danube” and when I heard it 
I thought I had never heard waltz time before. 
... It rose and fell in the softest waves, with the 
first beat accented, until one felt as if one must 
sway with it. 

It was a moment that I shall never forget. I 
don’t know quite why it was so vivid. . . . But 
the great hushed crowd which was pierced by blue 


STORIES, MUSIC AND TEA 147 

uniforms, and the three-cornered hats of the car- 
abinieri, and the look on the dark skinned faces 
and in the deep brown eyes, and the sun that 
slanted across all this to cover an old stone build- 
ing with gold, and the people around the little 
tables, and Viola talking with Mr. Wake, and 
Sam Deane, looking at me in a kind way, struck 
into my heart to make a picture that will always 
be remembered. 

When the music stopped, I said, “I don’t know 
why I am so happy to-day — ” 

Ajid Sam Deane said he was too, but he did 
know why, which of course was natural, for 
he had been close to starving and worried over 
work, and all his skies were cleared. 

“I can’t tell you,” I said, “how glad I am 
that everything is all right for you .” 

He didn’t answer immediately, and he really 
didn’t answer at all. He said, “Please keep on 
feeling that way,” and I promised I would, and 
then we stood up, and made our way through the 
crowd to stand at the edge of it, and listen to a 
few more numbers before we went home. 

And on the way — we loitered a little, for we 
were on the sunny side of the street, and that 
makes loitering easy — Mr. Wake told us about 
how Mr. Robert Browning had picked up a little 
yellow book, in one of the stalls outside of San 
Lorenzo — which was a church we passed — and how 


148 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


this book made him write “The Ring and the 
Book.” Viola said that she knew it almost word 
for word, but when Mr. Wake asked her how it 
started she couldn’t seem to remember. 

“If I recall,” said Mr. Wake — and it was almost 
the last information he imparted, and after that 
we began to have a fine time — ‘ ‘ if I recall correctly 
it started out with a very careless sounding few 
words; they are, I think, ‘Do you see this rin gV 
And then, in the next paragraph, ‘Do you see this 
little yellow book I hold in my hand?’ . . . And 
the poem has lived ! The artificial fades and drops 
away; the real and simple roots.” (He looked at 
Viola then; I don’t know why) “There is another 
poem,” he went on, “that starts in somewhat the 
same manner and Jane will know it. That one be- 
gins with, ‘Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s 
early light,’ both of them intimately in the ver- 
nacular — ” 

I didn’t know what “vernacular” meant, but 
I didn’t have to admit it, because Viola put in one 
of her low-breathed, “jFascinatings,” and after 
that Mr. Wake was quiet until we reached the 
twisting stairs that led to the Pension Dante, when 
he and Sam Deane said good-by to us. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
FLORENTINE WINTER 
FTER that first real walk and our outdoor 



A tea, Viola, Mr. Wake, Sam Deane and I 
took a great many walks — always two a week — - 
and I came to enjoy seeing the things I should 
see, and hearing about people whom I had con- 
sidered of little importance because they were so 
dead. But Mr. Wake woke everything up, and 
shook the dust from all the old stories and made 
them live. 

For instance, when we passed Dante’s house he 
would say, “No use of stopping; Dante is over 
at the Pitti Palace talking to Cosimo de Medici 
this morning, and I see Gemma” (she was Dante’s 
wife) “is busy in the hack yard hanging up the 
wash, ’ ’ and then we ’d all pretend we saw her, and 
walk on deciding as we walked, that it would be 
kinder to slip our cards under the door without 
ringing, and that we hadn’t wanted to find them 
in, anyway. Mr. Wake made everything modern 
and natural , just like that ! 

He took us to the Pitti Palace, which, in 1440, 
Luca Pitti commissioned Brunelleschi to build for 
him. It was to be a palace more magnificent than 
the Riccardi Palace which belonged to the Medici ; 


149 


150 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


and the citizens and Florentine corporations were 
so much interested that they aided him. It was 
so fine that it took years to build, which Mr. Wake 
proved when he said that in 1549 it was sold, 
without its roof, to Eleanor of Toledo, who was 
the wife of Cosimo. 

From the Pitti Palace we went to the Uffizi Gal- 
lery; through a little narrow passage that runs 
from the Pitti across the upper story of the Ponte 
Vecchio — the old bridge — along the Arno for a 
block, and then turns into the great Uffizi that 
was built by Vasari in 1560 to 74 for the munici- 
pal government, and by the order of Cosimo I 
because he wanted to use the Palazzo Vecchio, 
which was then the municipal building, for his own 
home. 

Mr. Wake said that a good many people try to 
look up the history of the Uffizi family, but he ad- 
vised me not to try, and when I asked why not he 
told me that “Uffizi” means offices. 

All this information was given in a way that 
made it seem quite palatable, and not at all like the 
information that one usually gets. I enjoyed even 
the history of the erecting of those great, strong 
buildings, and when it came to the families, I loved 
it. It was truly interesting to hear of the wars 
of the blacks and the whites, who were the op- 
posed and warring factions in Florence of the 
Middle Ages, and Mr. Wake told of how they 


FLORENTINE WINTER 151 

planned their conquests in hidden ways or under 
the cover of black night; and of how the Medici 
power was overthrown ; of a priest who was made 
so deep a sympathizer of the oppressed that he 
tried to stab Cosimo de Medici while he was at 
Mass, then of how Cosimo escaped this, and fin- 
ally died in one of his peaceful country palaces 
which stands to-day just as it did then. 

In the Uffizi, Mr. Wake asked me what I would 
look at if I were alone, and I said the pictures of 
wars and animals, and Sam took me around hunt- 
ing these, while Viola stuck to Mr. Wake and ad- 
mired the things that every one should admire. 

One sunny day, we went to the Piazzale Michel- 
angelo, which is a great, cleared space on the top 
of a hill on the south side of the Arno, riding 
up in a tram and walking slowly down a cypress 
shaded path upon which, at intervals, were the 
stations of the cross. At another time we walked 
out to see Andrea Del Sarto’s last supper, which 
is in a tiny church way out in the outskirts of 
Florence, and is not often seen by the hurried 
kind of tourist who uses a guide. 

Then we saw where well known people had lived 
-r-Thomas Hardy, (and he had had rooms right 
up near us) and so had George Eliot and Walter 
Savage Landor and the Brownings and dozens of 
others I have forgotten. 

And of course we saw a little house where Boc- 


152 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

caccio was supposed to have lived, and the place 
in front of Santa Maria Novella (a church) where 
he, Boccaccio, met seven lovely ladies, one morn- 
ing in 1348, just after Mass, when the city lay 
stricken under the horror of the plague. Mr. 
Wake pointed Boccaccio out to us as we were 
coming home past the church, one bleak November 
afternoon, after a walk that had taken us to the 
churches on the South Side of the Arno. 

“ There,” he said, “in claret colored doublet 
and hose is my friend Boccaccio! He swings a 
silken purse that has in it many ducats, and he 
tries with nonchalance to hide the horror and 
fear that lurk within his heart. ... A serving 
man whines behind him. ‘ Master, master, we 
had best be going. . . . Two more have fallen in 
the way not a disc’s throw from your excellency, 
and the streets are filled with death!’. . . But 
now — now ! — Who are these, seven of them, com- 
ing out from Mass ! Lovely ladies who greet Boc- 
caccio as a friend, and whose eyes lose their look of 
fright for the fleeting second when first Boccaccio 
comes into vision and to mind — ” 

And then Mr. Wake — in his seeing way told 
us how that group and two more youths planned 
to go up to Boccaccio’s villa which some think 
was close to Fiesole — the town that Florence 
warred upon so often — the proud, small town that 
frowned and sneered on Florence from her high 


FLORENTINE WINTER 


153 


seat upon the hill. And Mr. Wake said that the 
next day — early — when the dew was on the grass 
and the sun yet gentle, Boccaccio’s party started 
off, and made their trip in a short two hours; 
found the villa more charming than their modest 
host had promised and that there they settled. 

And to fill time they told stories, which are, 
after all this time, being read. But Mr. Wake 
said — when 7 said that I’d like to read them, that 
the stories would be the kind of stories that would 
be told by people who evaded duty, and kited off by 
themselves to look out for themselves. And he 
said they were not exactly the reading he would 
recommend for me . 

Viola had read them and so had Leslie. Both 
of those girls often made me feel very ignorant, 
but Sam said he liked me as I was, and that helped 
a great deal. 

Leslie went with us only a few times, although 
I always asked her. But her quarrel with Viola 
was as intense as it had been the day when it 
started — although they did speak to each other, 
very coldly — and I think that kept Leslie from 
going, as well as the fact that she was irritated 
into disliking Mr. Wake by Viola’s and my en- 
thusiasm over him just at that time. She was 
nervous and edgy and unhappy, and disappointed 
from the toppling of her friendship with Mr. Ben 
Forbes. The Florence winter months, which are 


154 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

filled with fog and a damp, increeping cold, left 
her physically uncomfortable too, and she had no 
real companion and the hard application to work 
was new to her; altogether now that I look back, 
I pity her. But all that came to Leslie did help 
her ; I know that, and so I suppose that I am only 
wasting pity. 

The second time we went walking, Leslie went 
with us, and she was very cool and crisp in her 
greeting to Mr. Wake, and she disagreed with him 
about his opinion of the Fra Angelico frescoes in 
a Monastery called San Marco, in a sharp way 
that wasn’t at all nice. 

After we got back from our walk and were set- 
tled at dinner, Viola, with a circumspect look at 
Leslie, said something about Mr. Wake’s books, 
and I saw Leslie look up at her suddenly and pierc- 
ingly. Amd before I went to bed she called me 
over to her room. She had on a layer of mud — 
it was some kind of Russian stuff that she put 
on to cleanse the pores — and it made her look like 
a mummy. I had to giggle. 

“What is the cause of your mirth?” she asked 
coldly as she stopped brushing her hair. 

“Well,” I answered, “you look kind of funny.” 

She elevated her chin, and I think she gave 
me that cool stare with which she even occasionally 
subdues Miss Meek, but of course it couldn’t get 
through her mud-pie finish. 


FLORENTINE WINTER 


155 


“I want to know,” she said after a second of 
comparative silence, during which she had 
slammed her little jars around on her bureau, and 
brushed her hair so hard that I thought she’d 
brush it all out, “whether it is true that Mr. Wake 
is a writer?” 

“Why, yes,” I answered, “ ‘ Beautiful Tuscany,’ 
‘Hill Roads,’ ‘Old Roman Byways’ and lots more 
were written by him. ’ ’ 

It seemed to irritate her. “It would seem to 
me,” she confided, “that you would naturally 
mention it!” 

I didn’t see why, but I didn’t say so. I just 
picked up a button hook and wiggled it around 
in my hands, the way you do when you have noth- 
ing to do but feel uncomfortable. 

“You lack finish, and are as gauche as any one 
I ever knew,” she went on. I didn’t know just 
what she meant by that, but I knew I didn’t like 
it. 

“Don’t you know that when you introduce 
people,” she questioned, “you should give some 
idea of the — the standing of each person so that — 
that they may know whom they shall be nice to?” 

I shook my head. 

“Well, you do,” she snapped, “and if you have 
any more people to present to me, I want to know 
about them. ... I positively snapped at this Mr. 
Wake — I am fearfully humiliated over it! — and 


156 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


just a word from yon would have saved me.” 
(She slammed a bureau drawer shut until every- 
thing on the bureau top rattled), “I didn’t imag- 
ine he covld be anybody, because Viola Harris- 
Clarke raved so — ” 

4 ‘He was my friend in any case,” I said, be- 
cause I was getting mad, “and if you’d remem- 
bered that and been kind, you’d have spared 
both of us. I was ashamed of you — Mr. Wake 
was being kind to us, and you were rude to him 
without any reason for being so.” 

“You ashamed of me?” she echoed, and 
wheeled on me, to stand looking at me in a dread- 
ful way. 

“Yes,” I said, “I was,” and I said it hard. 

She drew a deep breath, and was about to start 
in when I decided I would go. I only heard her 
say, “You come from the backwoods of Pennsyl- 
vania, and so you cannot understand the — the 
infamy of your statement , but in New York 7— 
my family — ” 

And into this I broke in with something that 
was horrible to say, I know it, but it was a satis- 
faction. I said, “Good night old mud-hen,” and 
then shut the door. But before I had my own 
opened, she had jerked through hers, to stand 
in the corridor and wave her brush at me, 
“Never,” she called loudly, “Never call me ‘Mud- 
hen’ again I” 


FLORENTINE WINTER 


157 


“ 1 will if I want to,” I said. “Yon may count 
in New York, but I come from Pennsylvania.” 
And then I went in my room and felt ashamed. 

For two days after that Leslie cut me out of 
her talking list, too, and the only words I had from 
her were icicle-hung requests to pass things. On 
the third, I went into the practice room that was 
farthest down the hall — my afternoon hours fol- 
lowed hers that day — and I found her with her 
head in her arms, crying. 

I felt very sorry for her, and I put my hand on 
her shoulder, and I said, “Leslie,” quite softly, 
and she turned away from me for a moment, and 
then turned to me and clung to my arm. I patted 
her and smoothed her hair, and I think I made 
her feel a little better. 

Anyway, she stopped crying, and wiped her 
eyes, and asked me to go to Doney’s with her for 
tea. But I said I wouldn’t do that. 

“Why not?” she asked in her old, cool, lofty 
manner and she raised her brows in a way that 
confessed she was surprised over my daring to 
refuse her invitation. 

“Because,” I answered, “you took Viola, and 
now you’re mad at her, and you’re telling every 
one how often you took her out, and how much 
you did for her.” 

She grew red. I think she didn’t like it, but 
I had to say it. 


158 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“111 take a walk,” I said. She didn’t answer 
that, but, head high, collected her music and 
flounced off. After I had practised about an hour 
I heard a noise at the doorway, and I looked up 
to see Leslie standing in it. 

“You were quite right,” she stated, in the 
stiffest voice I had ever heard, and she looked 
right over my head. “I know it. I will be glad 
to walk with you if you like — ” 

“All right,” I answered, after a look at the little 
wrist watch father had given to me, before I left, 
“111 be ready in fifteen minutes; fourteen and a 
half more here, and a half to get into my things — ” 
And I think that day started our real friend- 
ship. 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
PLANS FOR A PARTY 

B Y Christmas time I was so well acquainted 
with both Leslie and Viola, that when, a 
week before Christmas, Viola called me in her 
room and told me what she was writing, I told 
her that I thought she was foolish. 

“Why?” she asked, as she looked at the en- 
velope that was addressed to her father. 

“Doesn’t he send you all the money he can?” 
I questioned in turn. 

“Probably,” (she jabbed holes in the blotter 
with her pen) “but I need more. You see early 
in the game — when Miss Parrish deigned to no- 
tice me, I borrowed money of her, she was always 
pressing it upon -me — one of her sweet ways of 
impressing people with her wealth importance — ” 
(I didn’t say anything, but I thought Viola was 
mean) “and I need to repay that, and then — 
my clothes are in rags," (which was nonsense, 
for they weren’t) “and I always do ask father 
for extra money at Christmas time,” she con- 
tinued, “because he softens then — or is in so 
deep that he thinks a little more won’t matter — 

159 


160 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


anyway, since I always do ask him, there ’s no 
reason for you to be so shocked — ” 

4 4 He’s your father,’ ’ 1 stated, 4 4 hut I’ll tell you , 
I’d hate to send my father a letter like that to get 
around Christmas time!” 

Viola shrugged her shoulders. Then she grew 
haughty. 4 4 As you say,” she said, 4 4 he is my 
father, and it is my affair — ” 

4 4 You asked me about it,” I put in sharply, 44 I 
was going by, and you called me in and said 
you were writing your father for money, and 
asked me what I thought would come of it — ” 

44 I meant how much would come of it.” 

4 4 Oh. ’ ’ 

4 4 He’s quite used to it, Jane,” she went on, and 
almost apologetically, 4 4 Mother has to ask him for 
extra money all the time . ... We simply struggle, 
and pinch at every point, but even then we can’t 
put up half the appearance that we should, and 
we never have what every one around us has — and 
takes for granted. Did you hear Miss Meek say 
4 1 ’ll wager it’s jolly slummish around the jail!’ 
yesterday when I was describing our breakfast 
room? Horrid old thing!" 

I didn’t say so, but Viola had made Miss Meek 
hazard this opinion about Ossining because she, 
Viola, had put on so many unnecessary and silly 
airs about her home. Miss Meek added, after 
her first remark, that of course she knew nothing 


PLANS FOR A PARTY 


161 


whatsoever about it, since she never had visited 
such low places. The moment that followed had 
been strained — and funny ! 

“It does seem,” Viola went on, after she had 
wiped her pen on her stocking, and then said 
something vigorous because she had forgotten that 
she wore a brown pair, “it does seem as if Father 
might try to do better. It makes it very hard for 
a girl of my type. ... It doesn’t agree with me 
to accommodate to poverty, or to pinch and scrape 
as I have to all the time!” 

That was nonsense, but I didn’t say so, because 
with Leslie and Viola my opinion about money 
and things didn’t count. 

So I only stood there a minute, feeling a little 
sorry for Viola and very sorry for her father, 
and wondering why people felt so about that 
which Viola called “Appearance,” and then I de- 
cided I’d go to my room and finish a letter I’d 
started to Mother, who would, Miss Sheila had 
stated, write me herself, very soon. 

“Where are you going?” asked Viola after I 
had said I must hurry on. 

“My room,” I answered, as I turned the door 
knob. 

“How’d your lesson go?” 

“Pretty well.” 

“If Miss Parrish doesn’t join you, I will 
later.” 


162 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“All right/ ’ I responded, “but I won’t have a 
fire — ” 

“I should think you’d die without one,” said 
Viola, pityingly. 

“I get along all right,” I answered, shortly, 
because it seemed to me that Viola had better get 
along without a fire herself — a scuttle of coal cost 
about thirty cents, and the kindling that started it, 
ten — instead of shivering for me, while she bad- 
gered her father for money that she confessed 
wouldn’t be easy for him to spare. 

“Don’t be angry,” she called after me. 

“I’m not angry,” I replied. 

“Well, you acted it. . . . Funny holiday, isn’t 
it? Just sitting in our rooms. No parties or 
anything — ” 

“We could have one if you and Leslie wouldn’t 
hitch at it, and spoil everything,” I responded. 
“We could get a nice one up — ” 

“Well, I’m willing to fly the white flag that 
evening,” she stated with an indifference I felt 
that she put on. 

But that made the party possible, for I saw 
how it might be managed and I hurried right on to 
Leslie’s room to find her lying down on her bed 
and staring up at a sky blue ceiling that had gilt 
stars painted on it. 

“Look here,” I said, as I shut the door after 
myself, “I think we ought to have a party, a 


PLANS FOR A PARTY 


163 


Christmas party, but we can’t unless you and 
Viola stop scrapping for the evening. She said 
she would ; will you ? ’ ’ 

Leslie sat up and drew her padded silk dress- 
ing gown around her, and then answered. ‘ ‘I am 
sure,” she said, “that I would act as I always do. 
One’s personal feelings dare not be aired ; I assure 
you I invariably exercise restraint — ” 

“All right,” I answered and then I sat down 
on the edge of her bed, and we planned it. 

“Mr. "Wake and Sam will come,” I said, after 
we had decided to buy those cracker things that 
pop and have paper caps in them, and Leslie had 
said she would donate some pastries and some 
French chocolates. 

“Mr. Wake would be fearfully bored,” she ob- 
jected. 

“I don’t believe it,” I disagreed. 

“But with Miss Meek and Miss Bannister and 
Mr. Hemmingway? For of course if we have it 
here we’ll have to ask the old things!” 

“Probably it’ll be the first party they’ve been 
to in years,” I stated, and I saw that Leslie felt 
a little mean. 

“Well, I’d tell him that the whole institution 
will be on board, ’ ’ she advised, and I said I would. 

“Beata would serve,” said Leslie, who seemed 
to have a lot of head about planning the refresh- 
ments and how they should be brought on. 


164* K MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“And she’d like it,” I commented, “probably 
it’ll help her out.” 

“What’s the matter with her, any way?” Les- 
lie asked, and I’d told Leslie about forty times, 
but I told her once again. 

“How much does she need?” she asked, as she 
lay back and again looked up at the ceiling. 

“I think about seventy-five dollars,” I an- 
swered. Leslie laughed in a queer, unhappy way. 

“Fancy it’s being as simple as that!” she mur- 
mured in an undertone. 

“Not particularly simple, if she can’t get it,” I 
disagreed. “And poor Beata doesn’t believe 
she ’ll ever be able to save it, and she loved him so. 
His name is Pietro La Nasa, and he is good look- 
ing. ... I’ve seen him standing in the court — 
he knows Gino, who owns the brass shop down 
there — and he looks up so longingly — and you 
know how much Beata cries — ” 

“Yes, I know — ” 

Suddenly Leslie turned and clasped my hand 
between both of hers. “Look here, Jane,” she 
said, and with the prettiest look I had ever seen 
on her pretty face, “we’ll try to make this a real 
party. . . . My father sent me a little extra money 
— I had a dividend from something or other that 
has done well — and I’d love to spend it this way. 
... As you say, the crowd here probably haven’t 
had a good time for years—” 


PLANS FOR A PARTY 


165 


“And may not again for years — if ever — ” I 
put in. Leslie nodded. 

“We’ll do it,” she said, with lots of energy in 
her voice. “And you can ask Viola to help with 
the decorating and so on. . . . Understand, 1 want 
nothing to do with her after it is over. ... I shall 
never forget the things she said to me about my 
Grandfather who had a little interest in a factory 
where they put up chow chow (he made his for- 
tune in railroads) and about my having an inflated 
idea of my own importance. I have not, but I 
assure you, Jane, the Harris-Clarkes are no- 
bodies — •” 

Well, Pd heard that all about a thousand times 
before, and I had got so that I was honestly bored 
— and for the first time in my life — whenever 
Viola started on the Parrishes, or Leslie about the 
Harris-Clarkes. 

“I can’t give any presents,” I broke in. 

“I’ll loan you any amount, dear,” said Leslie, 
quickly. 

“No, you won’t!” I answered. “I won’t give 
presents because I shouldn’t, but we can have an 
awfully good time, presents or not!” 

“And will !” she promised, quickly, and then she 
crawled out and put a kettle of water over her 
spirit lamp and began to make tea, and I had 
three cups and four crackers and two slices of 
nut cake and some kisses. Then, feeling a little 


166 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


refreshed, I went back to my own room, on the 
way stopping at Viola’s. “It’s all right,” I said, 
from the doorway, “she’ll pretend, if you will-—” 

“I’m honestly glad,” said Viola. 

Before I started on, I saw her lick the flap of 
the envelope that was to take her complaining 
letter across the sea to her father — I had a queer, 
sad feeling as she did it, and then I said a short 
“By,” and went on to my own room. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 

T WO days later at about five in the afternoon, 
Leslie looked around the living room which 
was growing dark, as she said, “I think we’ve 
done wonderfully !” 

Viola was tying some red tissue paper around 
the funny little tree that Leslie, with great effort, 
had got from a florist, and after she stood erect 
and stretched, she responded to Leslie with a mur- 
mured, “Simply sweet!” 

“Don’t you think so, Jane?” asked Leslie 
coolly. She had ignored Viola all that afternoon 
by addressing me, and after she did this pointedly, 
Viola always huffed up, and appealed to me, too. 
It made me feel as if I were interpreter in the 
tower of Babel, and it left me far from comfort- 
able ! And it was all so silly ! 

“I certainly do,” I answered as I looked around, 
and it was fine ! 

Mr. Wake, who had accepted our invitation with 
great pleasure, had sent in flowers and big 
branches of foliage from his place, and these were 
in vases, and massed in corners; and Sam, who 
had just left, had helped us make twisted red 
streamers that he had wound around the funny 
167 


168 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

chandelier, and we had put red paper around all 
the lumpy vases that Miss Julianna seemed to 
like so much; and the bare little tree was on the 
center table, with a ring of candles, set up in their 
own grease around it. It doesn’t sound especially 
pretty, but it was, as well as very cheering. 

Over the back of a chair hung a long red gown 
that Leslie was going to wear as she gave out a 
few little presents. Her giving them was entirely 
correct, because the Italian Santa Claus is a lady 
called “Befana,” and the only way we changed 
things was by having the Befana come on Christ- 
mas Eve instead of on Epiphany. 

On the mantel were some pink tarletan stock- 
ings filled with candy — there was no fastening 
them up, the mantel was made of marble — and 
Leslie had got a little piece of mistletoe which Sam 
had hung in the doorway. 

“Really, it has the feeling of Christmas,” said 
Leslie, as she picked up the gown, which I had 
made on her with safety pins. 

“Hasn’t it?” murmured Viola, who, in spite of 
saying the most bitter things, did want to make up. 

“When it’s lit by candles it will be pretty,” 
I prophesied, and it was. Then we picked up 
the hammers and the nails that always lie around 
on the edges of things after you’ve put up Christ- 
mas decorations, and went to dress, closing the 
door very carefully after us, and locking it. 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 169 

Beata, who was tremendously interested in the 
new version of their Befana, and who had asked 
a great deal — through Miss Julianna — about the 
person she called “Meester Sant’ Claus,” smiled 
at us as we passed ‘the kitchen, and I saw that 
she hadn’t cried that day, and that she wore her 
best dress, and a shabby, yet gay artificial flower 
in one side of her dark hair. 

‘ 1 Sant’ Claus come!” she managed, while we 
were yet within hearing; Leslie called “Not 
yet — ” and then we went on, and parted. 

In my room, before I lit the light, I will confess 
that I had a little moment of sadness, during which 
home seemed far away and I wished I had as 
much money to spend as Leslie had. ... I had 
wanted to give Miss Meek and Miss Bannister and 
Mr. Hemmingway very nice presents, because they 
needed them, but of course I couldn’t give them 
much. I had found for Miss Bannister a leather 
picture frame in a shop that was opposite the Pitti 
Palace — she had said she meant to get a frame 
for a picture she had of her old home, but that 
she always forgot it while out, (she is really very 
poor) and I had got for Miss Meek, who is very 
gay, a gray comb that had brilliants in it — it was 
only fifty cents; I got it in a stall outside of a 
church called Santa Croce — and I had got Mr. 
Hemmingway a book from a little shop back of the 
Duomo that had “My memories” written on it in 


170 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

gilt — I mean on the book, not the Dnomo, of course 
— for I thought he would enjoy writing down some 
of the happenings that occurred at the times he 
never could remember. 

Then I had two lovely colored linen handker- 
chiefs which had been given me before I sailed, 
and fortunately, I had only carried them and 
never put them into active use, and I did these up 
for Beata and Miss Julianna. 

I didn’t give anything to the others, and I 
wished I could. I had that feeling that leads even 
restrained people to rush out on Christmas Eve 
and buy a great deal that they can’t afford, but 
after I reasoned it through I knew that I shouldn’t, 
because I wanted to pay back Miss Sheila — I had 
decided that I preferred to do this — and I wanted 
to return what I could, as soon as I could, to my 
own family, who had sacrificed a great deal 
for me. Then my allowance wasn’t large — Leslie 
told me she considered it about adequate for a 
week’s allowance of French pastries and digestion 
tablets — and so I wrote the rest of my friends 
notes. I used my best stationery that hasn’t any 
blue lines on it, but instead a silver “ J” in the 
corner, and after I had written: 

“Dear Mr. Wake: 

“I do hope that you will be very happy this Christ- 
mas and always! “Your friend, 

“Jane Jones.” 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 171 

I snipped a paragraph from Miss Sheila’s last 
letter, for he seemed to like hearing about her, 
and talking of her, and the paragraph was about 
him. 

“I am sure,” she had written, 4 4 that the Mr. Wake 
of whom you write so often, must be a real addition 
to your Florentine life. I did, very much, like his 
story of the wedding of Lorenzo, The Magnificent.” 

(He was one of the Medici) 

“I saw it, dear, as you said he made you see it. . . . 
And wouldn’t Florence be a nice city to be married in? 
I think if I had all my life to do over, I would go to a 
Padre in Florence, with some unlucky man, and pay a 
lot of scheming little wretches to throw roses before me 
as I left the church. ... You see what a romantic 
mood has attacked your old friend? I think I must 
needia tonic! Please write me the titles of your Mr. 
Wake’s books; I am ashamed to say that I haven’t read 
them, but I want to, and I shall — ” 

It did please him, I saw him read it three times 
that very evening; twice while Mr. Hemmingway 
was trying to remember the first time that he 
had ever seen a plum pudding brought in, on the 
center of a blazing platter; and the third time, 
while Viola was describing the last Christmas 
and dragging in through it a long description of 
a lodge in the Adirondacks. 

But to get on, or rather go back and start where 


172 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


I should, Miss Julianna had a very fine dinner 
because of our party, and she sat down with us, 
which wasn’t always her custom — she often helped 
in the kitchen — and Mr. Hemmingway had raked 
up some greenish black dress clothes from some- 
where, and Miss Bannister had her hair on as 
nearly straight as I had ever seen it, and Miss 
Meek wore a purple velvet dress with green but- 
tons and a piece of old lace on it, which I had never 
before seen, but which she had spoken of in a way 
that made me know that she thought it very fine. 

Of course Leslie was beautiful — she had on a 
new dress made of several shades of light blue 
chiffon, and this fluttered and changed as she 
walked — and there was a silver ribbon girdle on it, 
and silver ribbons knotted here and there over 
the shining white satin lining, and she wore silver 
slippers, and blue stockings with silver lace in- 
serts, and she had a silver bandeau on her hair. I 
told her she was lovely. 

Viola had pulled out all her extra eyebrows and 
looked sort of skinned, but she felt fixed up, so it 
was all right. She wore a red velvet dress that 
was pretty too. I wore a brown silk dress that 
had plaid trimming, and it put me in Miss Meek’s 
class, but I didn’t mind. 

After we sat down, and made conversation in 
that stiff way that people do when they are all 
wearing their best clothes and aren’t quite used 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 173 


to them, Mr. Hemmingway stood up and picked 
up the smaller wine glass that stood by his plate — 
we had two sorts of wine — and he looked at me, 
bowed, and said, “To the United States and her 
lovely daughters — ” 

I thought it was very kind. 

Then Miss Bannister blinked, and nodded, and 
squeaked out, “To the people we love who aren’t 
here — 

And I wasn’t a bit ashamed of the fact that my 
eyes filled with tears and that I had to blink and 
swallow like the dickens, because every one else 
was doing the same thing. 

After we drank that Mr. Hemmingway said, “It 
was, if I recall correctly, the Christmas of ’76 
that I first met the customs of Italy at Christmas 
and Epiphany; I can, I think , without undue as- 
sumption of certainty state flatly that it was in 
’76, and I assert this, because in the fall of ’76 I 
was experiencing my first attack of bronchitis; 
and I recall this, because the June of that same 
year, ’76, as I have heretofore mentioned, I had 
taken a trip up the Severn — or was that, now 
that I probe, ’74? Let me see, let me see — ” 

And then Miss Meek boomed out her “Ho 
hum!” and every one felt more natural and lots 
better. After that the stiffness slid away — all in 
a second — and Miss Meek tossed her head and 
told about the fine Christmases she had seen, and 


174 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

Miss Bannister told of how the children in the 
village where she had lived sung carols, and Mr.. 
Hemmingway searched after dates that wouldn’t 
come to him; and Viola and Leslie listened with 
more kindness than usual. 

After we had had the lumpy, heavy sort of 
pudding that people always serve around Christ- 
mas, we sat back and talked some more while we 
waited for Mr. Wake and Sam to come. And at 
last the bell in the hall swung to and fro, and then 
there was excitement. Beata, who courtesied very 
low, let them in, and they called out their greet- 
ings and wishes to every one, even before I had 
presented them. 

Mr. Wake had a big bag under his arm that was 
pleasantly lumpy, and he said that Santa Claus 
had dropped it on the hillside near Piesole and 
told him to deliver it. Then we all stood up, and 
after Leslie had lit the many candles in the draw- 
ing room, she rung a bell, and we filed in. 

She summoned Mr. Wake first, and I was glad 
she did, because going up to the table where she 
stood might have been hard for some of the others. 
And after Mr. Wake took his present, he gave 
a little boarding school bow — that dip at the knees 
that makes girls shorter than they are for the 
second in which they do it — and every one fol- 
lowed his lead. We did have the best time ! But, 
and I suppose it sounds strange, it got in your 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 175 


throat and made it feel cramped. I can’t explain 
why, but when Miss Bannister and Miss Meek 
couldn’t, at first, open their packages because 
their hands shook so, it did make you feel queer . 

Miss Bannister didn’t say anything — she only 
looked at her presents while her lips moved — but 
Miss Meek kept up an incessant string of, “Oh, I 
say!” or “How too ripping, don’t you know!” 
in a voice that was not entirely steady. And both 
of them had very bright, little, round spots of 
color on their usually faded cheeks, and their eyes 
were very, very bright. 

Mr. Hemmingway was so absorbed in a Dunhill 
pipe that Mr. Wake insisted Santa had sent, that 
he didn’t mention a date for fully a half hour. He 
only looked at that pipe, and murmured, “My, my! 
Never did think I’d own one. My, my, my!” 

And there were papers and cords all over the 
floor, and it looked and felt quite Christmasy. 

It was after Mr. Hemmingway got his pipe that 
I went over to stand by Sam at a window ; he had 
been watching me a little, and I thought perhaps 
he was lonely for home, or something, because he 
looked that way. 

* ‘ I think it ’s a fine party, ’ ’ I said, “ Don ’t you 1 ’ ’ 

“Best ever,” he answered. Then he coughed, 
and fumbled around in his pocket, and slipped a 
small box in my hand. “I’d like to say something 
darned nice,” he murmured, “but all my parlor 


176 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

conversation seems to have gone on a vacation — ’* 
“Is it for me?” I asked. I was surprised, for I 
thought that the violets he had given me only a 
little time before, were enough ! 

“Who the dickens would I give it to?” he an- 
swered, in a half irritated way. “Think I want 
to give anything to the other two? I don’t ! WThen 
I come to think of it, I never did want to buy any 
truck for any other girl before — ” 

I enjoyed that; every woman does enjoy that 
sort of thing. And when I opened the box I al- 
most went over backward ; it held the most beau- 
tiful bead bag I’d ever seen; it was really prettier 
than any of Leslie’ 's! It had a brown and gold 
background, and soft pink roses on it, and it swung 
from a gold cord, and had sliding gold rings on 
that. I knew he shouldn’t have done it for, even 
to my simple soul, it spelled a lot of money. 

I couldn’t say much, but I did say, “You 
shouldn’t have given it to me, Sam — ” 

“Don’t you like it, dear?” he asked. I didn’t 
mind that “Dear” at all. In fact I liked it. I had 
come to think of Sam as the best friend I’d ever 
had. 

“I love it,” I answered, “but it must have cost 
a great deal — ” 

He laughed down at me. “Look here, young 
woman,” he said, in his drawling slow way, “Some 
day I’m going to ash you to take over the man- 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 177 


agement of my finances, but until I do, I want the 
privilege of buying you a little thing like that 
once and again — ” 

What he said about finances worried me ter- 
ribly, because I can’t add at all, and my cash ac- 
count gives me real pain, and I have almost noth- 
ing to account for or to enter. But even at that, 
each month there is too much or too little, which 
makes me have to add a cream puff, or take one 
out. 

“Sam,” I said, “I’d do anything for you, be- 
cause I like you so much, but I can’t add. Why 
don’t you get Mr. Wake to help you? He’s there 
anyway, you see, and in a year I’ll be over in 
America — ” 

He slipped his arm through mine, and squeezed 
it against his side. 

“Mr. Wake is right about you,” he said, as he 
smiled down at me, in a sort of a funny way. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“Well, he thinks you a dear little girl. . . . And 
you are — just that.” 

“Don’t you like it?” I questioned, because it 
didn’t seem exactly as if he did. 

“Yes — surely — but, I don’t want you to get 
over liking me when you grow up.” 

“Why, Sam, I couldn’t!” I protested, and then 
I slipped my hand in his, “Don’t you know how 
much I like you ? ” I ended very earnestly because 


178 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

I did want him to understand, and I believe he 
did, although Leslie called my name before he an- 
swered and I had to go up to get my presents. 

And after I did, I was absolutely unable to say 
anything, for every one had been so hind to me ! 
Miss Bannister had given me one of the pictures 
of her old home that she loved so much, and Miss 
Meek, a collar that her own mother had embroid- 
ered, and Mr. Hemmingway, a pen holder that he 
had gotten in Brazil either in ’64 or ’65 — he 
couldn’t remember which, although he tried very 
hard to fasten the exact date in various ways — 
and Viola gave me a beautiful blue bottle with 
scent in it, and Leslie gave me a blouse that I 
had seen in a shop on the Lungarno and admired 
• — it was tan pongee with heavy coral stitching, 
and about the color of my hair — the tan, I mean, 
not the coral — and Miss Julianna had given me a 
tomato can, that she had painted, with a flower in 
it, and I liked it very much ; and Beata, a handker- 
chief that she had made herself. Mr. Wake gave 
me a scarab ring, that swung around in its setting, 
and had the name of the Princess who had first 
worn it in hieroglyphs on the back, and when I 
went to thank him, he slipped it on my finger, and 
made a wish. Then he said to Sam, who had come 
over to stand with us, “Want to have a shot, old 
boy? You can twist it, and perhaps the gods 
will listen — ” 


CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 179 

So Sam did, and lie said it was a fine wish! 
Then Beata brought in the refreshments, which 
were pastries, wine, ices and candies and little nut- 
filled cakes, (Leslie lost a filling while eating one) 
and we pulled crackers and put on the caps and 
things that came out of them, and read the mot- 
toes and Mr. Hemmingway got so gay that he 
kissed Miss Meek who had wandered over under 
the mistletoe. And it all made a great deal of 
excitement and fun. 

And after that — just when every one was begin- 
ning to have a cold feeling around the edges, from 
thinking that it was all almost over — the very 
nicest thing happened. Leslie, who had taken 
off her long Befana gown, and again looked like 
a corn flower with silver frost on it, called out, 
i ‘ One more gift; Befana has brought it to Beata, 
but she was only the messenger of Cupid !” 

And then she handed Beata an envelope in which 
was all the money that Beata needed for her 
dowry ! 

I never shall forget that moment, and the way 
Beata looked when she understood what her gift 
was. She covered her face with her arm and 
sobbed deeply and so hard that it shook her ; and 
Leslie, whose eyes had grown wet, called Pietro 
— whom she had got Miss Julianna to ask in for 
that hour — and he came from the hall, and Beata 
explained, and Pietro kissed her hands, and then 


180 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Leslie’s, and then raised both of his hands high 
and his face to the ceiling, and exploded ! 

I never heard anything like it, and of course 
no one except Mr. Wake, who speaks and under- 
stands Italian very well, could understand, but he 
did, and he said that Pietro was thanking God 
for rich Americans, and for the fact that the hope 
of his life had come true. 

It made every one feel shaky and upset to look 
on at Beata and Pietro. Even Miss Meek had to 
cough and say, ‘ ‘ Oh, my eye ! How jolly V 9 It was 
very damp and very sweet, and it was a positive 
relief to be diverted by Mr. Hemmingway, who 
broke the strain by saying : ‘ ‘ How well I recall my 
first experience with the Latin emotion. It was, if 
I recall correctly, in the spring of ’60, and I attest 
this because of my youth, and the fact that in 
J 59 I had my first pearl gray trousers. Those are 
fastened in my memory by a tailor who, if I recall, 
had his place of business in Ludgate Circus, and 
I remember him keenly, because — 99 

And on and on in his characteristic way. 

Not long after that Sam and Mr. Wake left, 
and Miss Bannister and Miss Meek and Mr. Hem- 
mingway gathered up their things and the cords 
and papers that had wrapped them, and I saw Mr. 
Hemmingway enter something about the evening 
in the book I gave him, which pleased me, and we 
all went to bed. 



Mr. Hemmingway got so gay that he kissed 

Miss Meek. 















































































































































































CUPID AND A LADY SANTA CLAUS 181 


I lay awake quite awhile in the dark, the way 
you do after you’ve been to a party and had a 
good time, and I think it was fully an hour be- 
fore I slept. Then, after what seemed ten min- 
utes, I woke to see Leslie standing by my bed, 
and to feel her hand on my shoulder, shaking me. 

“Heavens, you sleep soundly,” she complained. 
1 1 1 have a toothache, and 1 can ’t stand pain. W e ’ll 
have to find some dentist who is in his office, and 
I want you to go with me and stay right by me 
and say ‘Molto sensitivo’ every time I kick you. 
Oh, do hurry! Aoid don't forget to fell him that 
it’s sensitive.” 

She clamped her hands against her jaw, as she 
finished speaking, and I sat up to lean over the 
edge of my bed and fumble for my slippers. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 

I T was hard to get down to real work after 
Christmas, for there was a spirit of gaiety 
in the air that was too strong to be ignored. In 
the streets was always the shrill noise that came 
from little tin horns ; children were always play- 
ing on the pavements with their new toys, and 
you could hardly go a block without seeing a crowd 
around a vender of something or other that was 
built to please small people. . . . Monkeys that 
climb up frail, yellow sticks will always make 
me think of Florence in holiday dress — I know it ! 
And through them I’ll see again the thick, taupe 
fogs that spread over the city so much of the time, 
to muffle its bells, leave slime upon its pavements 
and a dull creeping cold in all the shadows. 

Or, I’ll see Florence at night and Harlequins 
and J uliets and Romeos, or wide sombreroed Span- 
iards walking beside Egyptian Princesses, or some 
girl in the costume of Normandy with a sweetheart 
in clanking armor ; for in Florence there are many 
masked balls after Christmas, and at night one 
may see the people who go to these strolling along 
182 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 


183 


in the best of good humors, and daring all sorts 
of things because of the protection given them by 
their disguise. 

Paper rose leaves were tossed in the air, 
every pretty girl was spoken to, and there was lots 
of laughter, and the nicest sort of fun. ... I, my- 
self, felt that grim Florence must be pleased, for 
the city of Florence is built to back brilliant cos- 
tumes, and not the tweeds and serges that she 
sees most. I wondered, as I looked one night when 
I was out with Mr. Wake and Sam, whether ghosts 
in satins and brocades, the ghosts of brides who 
had ridden all over Florence on snow white 
chargers before their weddings, whether these 
ghosts weren’t, perhaps, mingling in the throng. 
. . . Mr. Wake thought they were, and after I 
spoke of my feelings, he pointed out to me, a ghost 
named Vanna Tornabuoni, who, because she had 
been wicked, saw in her mirror instead of her 
fair face that of the horned devil ! And she there- 
fore went to confession immediately — in Santa 
Maria Novella, if I’m not mistaken — and began a 
new and a better life. 

And all this was pleasing and most fascinating, 
but as I said, it made work difficult even for me, 
and for Viola — who swayed with any wind — work 
stopped. Even Signor Paggi’s most bitter scorn 
didn’t do anything but make her weep. 

“I’m sick of it anyway,” she confided to me 


184 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

just before New Year’s day. “I wish now I’d 
listened to Father and never come — ” 

‘ 4 Didn ’t he want you to ? ’ ’ I asked. 

“No — the old objection, money. But I was wild 
over being with Leslie then, and I persuaded him. 
Now — ” (She drew rings on her blotters; I had 
dropped into her room to find her writing) “now, 
I wish I had listened to him. ’ ’ 

I didn’t say anything; there wasn’t very much 
to say. 

“About to-morrow,” she went on — I had come 
in to tell her that Mr. Wake asked us to go with 
him to a monastery called Certosa, on the follow- 
ing afternoon — “about to-morrow, I don’t know. 
But I don’t believe I’ll go this time. I saw a 
frock and a blouse in a shop on the Lungarno, 
and I thought that, if I could make the woman lis- 
ten to reason, I’d take them both. She is asking 
about forty dollars in our money for the frock, but 
I think she’ll come down. I’m positively in rags , 
and I planned to go out about the time Mr. Wake 
wants us to start. I’m awfully keen to get that 
frock — ” 

(She never did — something kept her from even 
wanting it— but of that, later) 

“Can’t you shop in the morning!” I asked. 
“Hate to get up — ” (She drew a larger ring) 
“ Truly sorry; I’d really like to but I’m obsessed 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 


185 


by that blouse and frock. . . . The frocks blue, 
with silver and lavender embroidered, Japanese- 
looking motifs. . . . Simply heavenly. . . French 
in every line! . . . It’s honestly worth far more 
than she asks, but I expect to get her down a few 
pegs. . . 

“ Sorry,’ ’ I said, and then I went on to Leslie’s 
room to ask her. I found her wearing her chin 
strap and polishing her nails. ‘ ‘ Hello, ’ ’ she said 
without changing her expression. (I knew then 
that she had on a grease cream that is put on to 
remove wrinkles. Leslie hasn’t any, but she says 
a great aunt whom she looks a lot like has dozens, 
and so she means to stall them before they even 
think of coming!) “What do you want?” 

“Here,” I said, and held out Mr. Wake’s letter, 
which Leslie took, held up to the light and looked 
through, and after murmuring, “Hand made” — 
read. 

“Can’t,” she stated, “I suppose you’ll think 
I’m crazy, but I asked Miss Meek and Miss Ban- 
nister to go out to tea with me to-morrow after- 
noon.” 

“I think it’s fine of you,” I disagreed. 

“Not at all," she answered sharply. (She hated 
being thought sentimental, and any mention of 
the kind things that she was coming to do, more 
and more regularly ? really embarrassed her) 


186 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“ Nothing ‘fine- about it at all! Only Miss Meek 
bad never been to Doney’s and I thought she’d 
like it.” 

“She will,” I said, and then I told her I was 
sorry she couldn’t go, and went back to my own 
room, and sewed clean collars and cuffs in my 
serge dress, and looked over some music which 
Signor Paggi wanted me to read away from the 
piano and try to see and feel in my mind. Then 
I went to my window and opened it, to hang out 
and peer down in the court. ... It looked cold, 
and almost dreary, and I was glad to think 
that spring would be along soon, and I hoped 
that it would be nice, but I never dreamed, 
as I stood there, how nice it was to be, nor how 
many changes and happy readjustments it was 
to back. 

Gino came out, as I was looking down, but he 
didn’t whistle or sing — I think that Italian whist- 
ling and singing is cranked by the bright sun — and 
then he went in again. A cat pounced on a dried 
leaf that fluttered across one of the brown paths. 
... A brilliant parrot that hung in his cage out- 
side of a window down the block a little way, sung 
out shrilly, and I noticed a dark-skinned woman 
across the way hanging clothes out on a line that 
was strung from her shutter to a neighbor’s. . . . 
It was when I was seeing all these things that 
Beata tapped, and came in bearing my second let- 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 


187 


ter from home — oh, it was so good to get them ! — 
and one from Miss Sheila. 

I read them both through several times, and then 
I slipped Mother’s letter in the pocket of the dress 
I wore, and Miss Sheila’s letter into the pocket 
of my suit coat, for in Miss Sheila’s letter was 
news that I felt sure Mr. Wake would enjoy, and 
I meant to read it aloud to him on the following 
day. 

Certosa is a large and beautiful place that tops 
a hill, about three miles outside of Florence, and 
I enjoyed going there, although it made me feel 
sad. I suppose my feeling was silly, but the order 
is an ancient one ; they take in no new members, 
and all that are left to rattle around in the very 
big place are a half dozen tottering old men, whose 
hands shake as they unlock the heavy doors for 
you, and whose breath grows short as they travel 
the long stairs that take one up to the Capella 
Prima, which means the main chapel. 

I noticed that the white-bearded, white-haired 
and white-robed monk who took us around talked 
almost incessantly, and Sam told me why. 

“Quiet almost all the time,” he said, “from 
some vow or other, and I guess the poor old chaps 
feel like letting out when they can.” 

I said I thought it was too bad, and that it was 
pleasanter to think of men getting old with their 
families around them, and Sam thought so too. 


188 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


We were out in the Cloister of Certosa. 
Cloisters are open squares that are surrounded 
by the buildings to which they belong, and they are 
in all the churches and monasteries and are al- 
ways most lovely. After the sifted, gray light of 
a church, the sunlight and the beautiful green 
growing things that fill these spaces are almost 
too lovely. And usually a white or brown garbed 
monk — sometimes wearing no more than sandals, 
on his feet — stands in some archway or wanders 
back and forth in a loggia and this adds to the 
picture. 

The cloister we looked on was centered by a 
well with a wrought iron top that has been copied 
a great deal, and after Sam had spoken of it, he — 
as he whittled at a stick — asked me whether I in- 
tended to marry. I said I hoped so, but that with 
women a lot depended upon whether any man 
asked them. That made him laugh, and he put 
his hand over mine. 

‘ 4 Some one’s bound to ask you,” he said, as he 
curled up my fingers in my palm and then undid 
them again, to do it all over — sometimes Sam is 
very restless — “but, Jane, do tell me any old 
thing won’t do !” 

“Oh, I’d have to like him,” I said, for although 
I knew little about love, I felt certain of that. 
Then Mr. Wake appeared, and he frowned on us 
terribly. “Look here, children,” he said, “you 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 189 

know you mustn’t hold hands in a cloister — ” (I 
laughed, but I got pink, for honestly, I hadn’t 
realized I was doing that. It only seemed natural 
and nice, and not anything about it made me con- 
scious until that moment!) “You know,” Mr. 
Wake went on, “one of these old boys will see you, 
and wonder how the thing is done, and pop ! some 
nice evening he’ll crawl over the wall, and hike 
down to Florence, and try to find a sweetheart. 
Then some jealous brother will see him come in 
late, and report, and there’ll be no end of a row. 
You want to think of these things!” 

I tried to free my hand, but Sam held it too 
tightly, because, I think, he saw it teased me. 

“Fra Lippo Lippi did that,” said Mr. Wake. 
“He used to skip over the wall almost every even- 
ing after dark. Then he’d come in late, and tip- 
toe through the corridors, carrying his shoes in 
his hands. Mr. Browning made a good story 
about it. Tell you, when you get down to it, there 
is nothing new under the sun! . . . Jane, am I 
going to have to speak sharply to you, about your 
conduct?” (He pretended I was holding Sam’s 
long hand) 

“You’d better be nice to me,” I said, and I was 
really almost peevish, “because I’ve always tried 
to be nice to you, and I have a letter from my 
Miss Sheila, that’s awfully nice — ” 

“It’s a shame” said Sam quickly — and I think 


190 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


he was sorry he had teased me; he is almost al- 
ways very gentle with me — and, he patted my hand, 
and returned it to my lap with a great deal of 
funny ceremony. Then I ordered him oft, and he 
wandered across the cloister and stood there 
smoking and watching us. And then I read Mr. 
Wake the nice news. 

“Well, what, dear child ?” he asked, as I got out 
the letter. 

“You wait / 9 1 said. 

“I am — small person — quite a letter, isn’t it?” 

“Yes — the news is on the last page, I believe,” 
I answered. ‘ 4 She writes from front to back, and 
then down across the middle one. . . . Here ’tis. 
‘I have a secret to tell you,’ I read, ‘and one that 
you must keep — ’ ” 

“Ah, Eve!” broke in Mr. Wake, as he smiled 
down at me until all the little wrinkles stood out 
around his eyes. 

“Well, you’re different I said. He swelled. 
“Adam!" I said, and he told me I was a saucy 
minx, to go on, and I did. 

“ ‘This spring,’ Miss Sheila wrote, ‘will see 
me in Florence, but I don’t want Leslie to know 
I shall appear, for if she does I am sure she ’ll want 
to go back with me. I think this winter is doing 
her good, and I want her to stick the entire time 
through.” 

“Nice?” I said, as I folded up the letter which 


191 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 

made crinkly, crackly noises as it went into the 
envelope, because it was written on such heavy 
paper. I had supposed Mr. Wake would think it 
very nice, and therefore I was surprised to look 
at him, and see him moisten his lips, and then 
hear him say, “I don’t know — ” 

“But, Mr. Wake!” I said — I was a good deal 
disappointed — “I thought you would like meeting 
her — 99 

(He turned, walked away a few steps and then 
came back) 

“I’m afraid,” said Mr. Wake, “that I am too 
old to meet a Fairy Godmother. No doubt — ” 
(he was trying to play, but his tone was a little 
stiff) “she’d suggest picnicking in the moonlight 
— isn’t that the hour when Fairy Rings are most 
popular! — and that might make my shoulders 
stiff. Then — seriously, dear child — I am no good 
as a cavalier; I falter. Children and old ladies 
are the age for me now, and soon it will be middle- 
aged women, whom I shall think of as children. 
So I am afraid I’d best refuse your alluring 
offer.” 

“Well,” I said, and my voice was flat because 
I felt so, “you know you don’t have to meet her; 
Florence is big — ” 

“And the world,” he stated, “is big, but some- 
times, in spite of the bigness, one can’t get away 
from — things — • ’ ’ 


192 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Well, I didn't understand him. All that winter 
he had c.sked me about Miss Sheila, until when- 
ever I saw him her name just naturally came out 
and sat on the tip of my tongue, waiting for the 
word from him that would make it jump off into 
space. It did seem very queer! I stuck the letter 
deep in my pocket, and tried not to feel disap- 
pointed, I knew that I shouldn’t, but — I did! Mr. 
Wake had been so dear to me, and was so dear, 
that I wanted to make him happy, and I’d sup- 
posed I could do so by having a party and asking 
him to meet Miss Sheila. 

“You know,” he said, and I could see he was 
trying to get back to normal, and to make me 
think he felt quite as usual, “an old person like 
me, with a fat tummy, simply can't meet a fairy 
godmother — he wouldn’t know how to act!” 

“Your stomach’s much better,” I answered 
bluntly, “you needn’t blame it on that! If you 
don’t want to meet her, just say so, but, I’ll tell 
you, you'll miss it! She’s lovely, and she’d be 
very kind to you — she’s kind to every one — ” 

‘ ‘ Is she f ” he broke in, and he smiled in a strange 
way. 

“Yes,” I answered hotly, “she is." 

We were quiet a moment. Then Mr. Wake put 
his hand over mine. ‘ ‘ Dear child, ’ ’ he said, “ I ’m 
sorry to disappoint you — ” 

“What about examples now?" asked Sam, who 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 193 

came strolling up. Then he saw that there was 
something straining in the air, and he quickly 
changed the subject. ‘ ‘Found a hush all in bloom 
on the other side of the court/ ’ he said, “Come 
over and see it, Jane. Almost as pretty as you are, 
back in a second, Signor Wake — ” 

“Long as you like,” said Mr. Wake with a 
wave, by which he meant we might linger. 

“What is it?” asked Sam, after we had wan- 
dered into the center of the big space that was 
surrounded on all sides by the building. I told 
him, and then I said, “It surprised me; he has 
talked about her — so much that at first I thought 
he must have known her, but she wrote she’d 
never known any one named Wake, and now — he 
doesn’t want to know her — ” 

“Match-maker?” asked Sam. 

“No,” I answered, and a little sharply, because 
I was still disappointed, “but I thought he’d like 
it. And they are both so nice, and Miss Sheila is 
lonely — you can see it sometimes, although per- 
haps she doesn’t know it — and I did think that if 
they liked each other it would be nice — ” 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Sam, “I’ll let you 
make a match for me. I’ll pick out the girl, and 
you’ll tell me how to get her — ” 

“All right,” I promised, and I felt more dismal 
than ever. I don’t know why, but I did. 

“That please you?” he asked. 


194 . A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“Not entirely,’ ’ I answered with candor, “I 
think you’ll ruin your career if you marry too 
early ! ’ ’ 

“It doesn’t look as if I would,” he stated, and 
he sighed. And I felt worse than ever. 

“That’ll he the end of our friendship — ” I 
prophesied, and I felt sad, and my voice sounded 
it. 

‘ 1 Sometimes it is, ’ ’ Sam answered, and then he 
laughed. I didn’t see how he could. It was a 
pleasant day, and the court was full of sunshine, 
and the grass and even some of the rose bushes 
were green — hut everything looked bleak to me — I 
felt alone , and blue . 

“Anything wrong?” asked Sam, after we had 
strolled around a little while, and looked at the 
well, and stolen some sprigs of herb from a little 
plot that had a few early vegetables in it. 

“There seems to be,” I answered. 

“Why, Jane! . . . How can there be under the 
warmth of an Italian sun, and in this lovely place, 
and with a — a troubadour who — who adores 
you?” then he stopped, and I felt much better. 
I don’t remember when I have felt so much better. 

“I’m all right now,” I said, and I smiled up 
at him, and then because he looked a little dif- 
ferent from usual, I thought we’d better go back 
to Mr. Wake. I said so. 

“Love him as much as I do,” said Sam, “the 


THE EFFECT OF A SECRET 195 

dickens with him! Look here, dear, if there is 
any — any satisfaction in my liking yon, yon can 
collect it any time, and what’s more — the darned 
stuff’s rolling np a whacking big interest.” 

I liked that; I said so. Then I said that we 
must go back to Mr. Wake, and I turned to go 
across the court, and Sam followed, saying he’d 
like to shake me. 

Going down to the car we drank the wine that 
the friars make and sell in tiny little bottles. And 
Sam and I got silly and had lots of fun, but Mr. 
Wake was unusually quiet. I think, perhaps, we 
had tired him. 

It was late when I reached home, for we had 
stopped to hear the last of a concert that was 
being given in the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, and 
that led to a little table with three chairs around 
it, and some chocolate, and cakes. 

Then Mr. Wake left us at the Piazza del Duomo, 
where he took the tram to Fiesole, and Sam 
walked up to the Piazza Indipendenza with me; 
we didn’t hurry — he told me about his new orders, 
and I told him how well the twins were doing — 
and it seemed to take quite a little time. And it 
was all of seven when we stood outside the pen- 
sion door, on the third floor, and shook hands. 

“ You ’ll be late for dinner,” said Sam. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I answered. 

“I hope it won’t be cold,” he said. 


196 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“I don’t care,” I responded. Then he said he 
was sorry, again, and he hoped it wouldn’t be 
cold, again, and I told him it didn’t matter, again, 
and then we reached the point we’d both been 
waiting for, which was, his saying, “Well, when 
can I see you again?” 

And after I told him — I said, “day after to- 
morrow,” because I didn’t think it was nice to 
rush things — I went in. I expected to hear Mr. 
Hemmingway reminiscing in the dining room, but 
no sound came from there; the place seemed 
strangely and unpleasantly still. I had expected 
also to encounter Beata carrying in one of the 
later courses, but when my eyes accommodated to 
the dim light I saw that Beata was sitting by the 
table, with her head in her arms, crying. 

“Beata,” I broke out quickly, “not Pietro ?” 
for I was afraid that something had come along 
to change the course of her plans, which all led 
up to and centered around a wedding which was 
to be early in February. 

Beata looked up; “Signorina,” she said, “la 
cablegram — la Signorina Harrees-Clarke — la pov- 
erina, la poverma !” 

That was all I stopped to hear. I hurried down 
the corridor to Viola’s room, and at that door I 
paused, for Leslie was sitting on the bed by Viola, 
holding both of her hands in hers, and saying, as 
she stroked them, “There, dear, therel f> 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 
CHANGES 


I FOUND the cablegram that had come for 
Viola told her that her father was dead ; the 
father whom she had not written since her com- 
plaining, begging letter of Christmas time. 

It made me feel so sorry for her that I didn’t 
know what to do ; for I knew that the sorrow would 
be enough for her without acute regret attached 
to it ; and I knew that she was going to sutler from 
that too. 

I stood in the doorway, that afternoon, for 
quite a few moments before I could go in, and 
when I did and Viola saw me, she sat up. Her 
cheeks were flushed and she didn’t look as if she 
had cried. 

“Do you remember that letter?” she said. 

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. 

“What — can you remember just what I said in 
it ? ” she asked. I evaded as hard and convincingly 
as I could, but it did no good. She remembered 
it, only she had to talk of it, and she did it through 
questioning me. 

“I — I told him that Leslie’s clothes made me 
feel like a pauper — ” she stated in a hard, high 
197 


198 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

voice, “ that— that I’d had to struggle and pinch— 
I told him — ” 

I broke in then. And I made her lie down, and 
I got Leslie started at making tea, and then I 
helped Viola into bed, and tried to do what I 
could to divert her through taking off her clothes 
and making her comfortable and brushing her 
hair, and Leslie took the cue and stopped saying, 
“Oh, my dear, how can I help you?” which was 
not just what Viola needed then. 

Every one was dreadfully upset, and worried 
for Viola, and Miss Meek came over with smell- 
ing salts, and Miss Bannister came tiptoeing to 
the door to ask what she could do, and Mr. Hem- 
mingway, whose eyes were flooded in tears, told 
me of the death of his dear father — and he re- 
membered the date — and Miss Julianna, with 
tears on her pretty round cheeks, came pattering 
in with offers of all sorts of strange things, and 
a little shrine, which she set up by Viola’s bed. 

“La Madre Santa,” she said — which meant 
“The Sainted Mother” — and Leslie, who doesn’t 
seem to understand the people who differ from 
her in their way of worship, asked Viola if it 
should stay. 

“I can take it away, darling,” she said in an 
undertone, “when Miss Julianna is gone.” 

But Viola shook her head, and I was glad, for 
I liked its being there. I felt a good deal of com- 


CHANGES 


199 


fort through the picture of the pretty woman who 
held the little baby so tightly in her arms and 
smiled at any one who looked at her. We all 
needed comfort, and some one who could smile. 

It was twelve before Viola slept, and after she 
did, I put out the light, and tiptoed down to Les- 
lie’s room. 

I found Leslie sitting up by her table, writing, 
and I couldn’t help seeing an envelope on it that 
was addressed to Ben Forbes. 

She saw that I saw it, and she spoke. 

4 4 Jane,” she said, “I’ve been a perfect fool. 
... I’ve always hated any one who belittled my 
importance or anything about me. . . . When 
Viola did — you know how it was — ” (She drew 
her pretty pink, quilted dressing gown closer 
around her, and went on) “and I imagine the rea- 
son I haven’t been wild over Aunt Sheila was be- 
cause I felt she didn’t worship . . . And you know 
I wanted to punish Ben Forbes — because he told 
m e the truth. . . . I’m writing him — ” she shoved 
the sheet of paper on which she had been writing 
toward me — “because, after he had hurt me, with 
truth , I told him that what he said made no dif- 
ference to me, that I considered him rather un- 
couth, and that I had written him only from kind- 
ness, and the fact that I felt he was rather shut 
off out there in the wilds — and — lots more l Well, 
to get through with this, this afternoon and to- 


200 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


night some things have been driven home to me 
by Viola’s losing her own father after she had 
hurt him. . . . She’ll have to remember now — all 
her life — how she had hurt him just before he 
died. They say” — Leslie groped for a handker- 
chief, and mopped her tears frankly — “they say 
that all sorts of accidents happen on — on 
T-rmches — 99 

And then she covered her face and sobbed. 

I moved around the table to stand by her and 
put my arm around her, and then she spoke. 

“Read — it,” she said, with a big sob between 
the two words, and I did. 

‘ * Dear Ben : ’ ’ she had written. 

“All my life I have been conceited; you must know it 
now. I do — which is a miracle — and I’m writing to- 
night to say that the truth you told me helped me and 
is helping me. I am working hard ; I hope I am less a 
fool. 

“With gratitude, 

“Your old neighbor and friend, 

“Leslie Parrish.” 

“Is it all right?” she asked, as I laid it down. 

“Yes,” I answered, “but if he likes you, and 
you hurt him, you ought to say you are sorry for 
that — ” 

She nodded quickly, and reached for her pen. 
“What would you say?” she asked, as she looked 
down, uncertainly, at her lovely monogramed 
paper. 


CHANGES 


201 


“If I liked him, really I said, “I would write 
a postscript. I’d say something like, ‘Dear Ben, 
I like you, and I didn’t mean those things I said 
when I was cross. I will be very grateful if you 
will forgive me — ’ ” 

And she wrote just that. 

“It doesn’t sound like me,” she commented in 
a voice that shook. “It’s — it’s too nice.” And, 
again, she wiped away tears. 

I leaned over, and folded the sheet, and stuck 
it in the envelope and sealed it, as Leslie laughed 
in a funny, weak way. 

“Where are your stamps?” I asked. She told 
me, and I licked one and stuck it on. Then we 
kissed each other, and that was unusual. I never 
was so very much for kissing everybody all the 
time, and I think when girls do, too much, it’s 
silly, but it was different that night. Then I went 
out and laid the letter on the table in the hall — 
we always left them there for the first person 
who went out to take, and then I looked in to see 
that Viola was still sleeping, and after that I 
went to bed. 

That day began a new sort of life for us all. 
The tragedy that came to Viola was like a stone 
that is thrown into the center of a still pool. All 
sorts of widening circles grew from her trouble, 
and she, herself, found through it a new depth. 
I don’t mean that everything changed in a day, 


202 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

for things don’t change in that manner, but all 
the time Viola was building up new habits in place 
of the old ones that were crumbling away. 

I saw the roots of a fine strong habit, on the day 
when she got the first letter from home written 
after her father died. 

I was with her when it came, and she looked up 
from the black-bordered sheet to say — vacantly, 
and in a level, stupid-sounding sort of tone — ‘ ‘ He 
was poor!” I was sewing clean cuffs and collars 
in my serge dress and I stuck myself and made a 
spot of blood on one cuff. I was so sorry for her 
that I really shook when anything new that was 
hard came to her. 

“Read it, Jane,” she said, and she held out the 
letter. I did, and I couldn’t imagine that any one 
who had ever known or really loved Viola’s father 
had written it. It was full of complaints and self- 
pity, because the husband of the woman who had 
written it had died to leave his widow with less 
money than she thought she should have. I didn’t 
know what to say. Then I suppose I did a dread- 
ful thing, but I did it without meaning to do any- 
thing dreadful, and because I have been brought 
up to speak the truth. 

“Maybe,” I said, “he is happier dead.” 

The tears stood out in Viola’s eyes. 

“I only said that,” I explained miserably, “be- 
cause I thought it might make you feel better, for 


CHANGES 


203 


if your mother talked to him like that I — I guess 
it worried you — ” (I stammered terribly over 
it; it was so hard to say anything that sounded 
even half right) 

“I talked that way too,” said Viola. I couldn’t 
say anything to that. So I began to sew in my 
collar. 

“He hated the hyphenated name!” said Viola. 
I finished sewing in my collar and began on my 
last cuff. 

“I don’t mind the money, hut I have to think 
of it — what shall I do? I hate sponging. I will 
say I always hated it ! Mother can go visit peo- 
ple — and she will — but I— I can’t!” 

“Why don’t you work?” I asked. 

She looked at me hard. “What would I do?” 
she asked after several moments of scrutiny. 

“Accompany,” I answered. “Even Devil 
Paggi” (I am ashamed to say that we called him 
that sometimes) “says you can do that — ” 

“Yes — ” Viola answered in a funny, low voice. 

“He said he’d get any of us positions,” I went 
on, “and touring with a great singer wouldn’t he 
bad—” 

That captured her ! 

“Basses are always fat,” she said; “I hope to 
goodness it will be a tenor !” Which was a whole 
lot like Viola, and a joke that I didn’t appreciate 
then, for when Viola — who did learn to accompany 


204 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


really beautifully — got ber position, it was with a 
fat German contralto who had five children, a fat 
poodle dog that Viola had to chaperon a great 
deal of the time, and a temper that Viola had to 
suffer, or — leave! 

I stood up a little time after that, and as I 
stepped into the corridor I met Leslie, who was 
taking a letter out for Beata to mail. 

“Look here,” I said, as I swung into step by 
her, and we reached the hall near the entrance 
door, “Viola had a letter from her mother, and 
her father hasn’t left much — ” 

“How ghastly!” 

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know. ... It may 
help Viola — ” 

“I’ll lend her anything she needs — any 
amount,” said Leslie, and then I spoke. 

“Please don’t,” I begged. She drew herself up. 

“Will you be good enough to explain?” she 
said frigidly, and I did. I said that, unless she 
intended to support Viola all her life, she had no 
business to get Viola into the habit of taking and 
expecting, and I went on to say that it was the 
one chance for Viola to learn to work, and that 
she would be helped through her trouble by work. 
I was sure she would, and I was sure that Leslie 
oughtn’t to help her, and I spoke with a lot of 
energy. 

Leslie didn’t like it— Rome wasn’t built in a 


CHANGES 


205 


day! — and then she said that when she needed 
my expert advice she’d call for it, and that she 
didn’t intend to see Viola starve; and after that, 
we parted. 

At dinner that night she was frosty as James 
Whitcomb Eiley’s famed pumpkins, but I could 
see by Viola’s careless manner (Viola always paid 
a great deal of attention to Leslie after she bor- 
rowed money) that Leslie hadn’t spoken to her of 
her willingness to help. 

For a couple of days Leslie avoided making 
real conversation with me, and then one morning 
while I was practising I looked up to see Leslie 
in the doorway. 

She had on a French blue negligee that had pale 
two-toned pink ribbons on it, and her cheeks were 
flushed and her eyes bright, and she carried a 
tray on which was a pot of tea, some little cakes 
that she knows I like, and some biscuits. She al- 
ways got her own breakfast because the pension 
allowance was small, and she knew that I was al- 
ways hungry until after lunch. 

“Here!” she said, as she set it down on a chair 
by me. “Suppose you’re starved as usual. I, 
myself, am entirely certain that the scant break- 
fasts stunt the race — I’m certain that it makes 
them short — I want to say several things — ” 

I began to eat. “Go ahead,” I said, in a tone 
that I must confess was muffled. 


206 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“In the first place — you, ah, you were right 
about Viola.” (I almost fainted, but I bit into 
a biscuit and held on to consciousness) "I see 
it now. Then — this afternoon I am going out to 
buy a wedding present for Beata, and I want you 
to go with me; can you?” 

"If you’ll wait till I get through practising—” 
I answered. 

"Certainly, that’s understood. Have to with 
you — ” (She always resented and never under- 
stood why my first thought had to be music) 
"And another thing,” she went on, and she fum- 
bled in the front of her negligee to find a cable- 
gram, "I’ve heard from him — ” 

I took it and read it. 

"He must have cared a lot to write those two 
pleases in a cablegram,” I said. 

She nodded and tried not to smile, but the in- 
clination was so much stronger than her ability to 
hold it in check, that she smiled in a silly, ashamed 
sort of way, and she avoided meeting my eyes. 

Ben Forbes had cabled, "Thank you. Letter 
follows. Please please write me again.” 

"I thought I’d get Beata a silver coffee 
service,” said Leslie, who can’t seem to accom- 
modate to other people’s circumstances. 

"She’d never use that,” I said. "You might as 
well get her a wooden leg or a pair of stilts ! I’d 
get her some horrible picture, or candlesticks for 


CHANGES 


207 


their front room, or a lamp with a funny, warty, 
red and green shade — ” 

4 ‘You’re right,” she said, and then she went 
off. She kissed her fingers to me from the door- 
way, and again she smiled in that misty, vacant 
way. 

I practised hard, for that afternoon I had a 
lesson, and it was that afternoon that Signor 
Paggi began to be most kind to me. 

“You have more feel in the tune,” he said. (I 
was very happy) “I think Cu peed have come to 
make you see — ” he went on. 

“Not to me,” I said, “but to some one I like — ” 

“Have as you will,” he stated, “but play again, 
for me — ” 

And I did. And as I did, I thought of how Sam 
had looked when he heard me practise that very 
same music at the Pension Dante. He had said 
it was beautiful, and it had helped me. 

Friendship is a wonderful thing ! 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


A COUNTRY WEDDING AND THE COMING OF 
SPRING 

GREAT deal happened in that slice of time 



which carried ns from January into spring, 
although during that interval we felt as if we 
were going along almost entirely on the level. You 
never really do see the things that happen — not 
well — until you can look at them over your shoul- 
der. I realize now that there was lots of excite- 
ment, and that there was really a good deal of 
abrupt change, but I didn’t see it then. 

In the first place, we all went to Beata’s wed- 
ding in February, and I never did have a better 
time. 

Her family, who numbered fourteen — with her 
father and mother, and Grandmother and Grand- 
father, and nine brothers and sisters — lived in 
a four room house out in the country past the 
Cascine, which is the Park in Florence where 
fashionable people and those who are trying very 
hard to become fashionable, drive each afternoon. 
I didn’t like it; it didn’t seem very foreign or 
Italian. But to go on with my story, an Amer- 
ican — or most Americans — would have hesitated 


208 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


209 


about inviting people to a wedding party in a 
four room bouse that was simply crammed with 
children, not to mention the sick hen and the 
sheep with a broken leg, but it didn’t bother 
Beata! No, sir, she meant to have a party, and 
she had it, and I thought her asking every one she 
wanted fine . She said, through Miss Julianna, 
who interpreted, “You know we are poor, but we 
have great love in our hearts for you, and would 
like to share what we have with you. And will 
you do us the great honor to come to my wed- 
ding, hear the mass that will follow, and then eat 
with us the grand dinner at the house of my dearly 
loved father?” 

Every one accepted, and on the morning of the 
fourteenth — which was the date Leslie had chosen 
for Beata’s wedding in honor of a certain Saint 
who swells the mails on this day each year — we 
all started out toward Beata’s home. Leslie, who 
was increasingly kind and thoughtful, had hired a 
big motor which would, with a little squeezing, 
hold us all; and into this piled Miss Julianna, 
Miss Meek (she wore the purple velvet with the 
green buttons again) Miss Bannister who had 
never set foot in a motor before and was pale 
from fear (her fright lasted about a block, and 
then she got so jazzy that we almost had to tell 
her not to rock the boat) Viola, with a wide black 
band around her arm (Leslie had suggested that 


210 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

to save Viola’s buying new black clothes) and 
Leslie, Mr. Hemmingway and myself. 

The riding out was great fun, for the day was 
fine, and Miss Meek and Miss Bannister and Mr. 
Hemmingway were having such a good time that 
we were all infected with it. 

Mr. Hemmingway talked every second about 
the first time he had ever seen a motor, which was 
in Australia, he thought in Sidney, although oddly 
enough he could, in retrospect, only see the corner 
where the motor stood; and, all corners being 
pretty much the same, it might have been in Mel- 
bourne. And he thought it was in 1889, although 
it might have been in 1888 — and so on ! 

Miss Meek kept saying, “My eye , how jolly!” 
and Miss Bannister, who, as I said, lost all fear 
after a block of going, kept asking if the chauf- 
feur couldn’t “speed it up a bit.” She admitted 
that she was “no end keen for going, don’t you 
know!” 

When we reached the little house, I was so glad 
that Beata had asked us, because we saw, through 
her doing so, a side of life that we hadn’t come 
across before. 

The house, which was of tan stucco with the 
usual, red tiled roof, stood on a tiny plot of 
ground over which were strewn all sorts of things. 
A broken cart, with one wheel gone, sagged in a 
corner, and near the tiny, shed-like barn, through 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


211 


the window of which an interested horse stuck its 
head, was a grindstone. Ground-scratching hens, 
who chattered in gentle clucks to their puffy, soft 
broods, walked in the house and out again as they 
pleased, and a red rooster stood on a crumbling 
stucco wall that was topped with broken glass, to 
flap his wings and crow. . . . Down back of the 
house every inch of ground was terraced, for it 
seems that it is best used that way on hillsides, 
and because of this the Italian country, in most 
places, looks like unending flights of green-grown 
steps. Up under the eaves was a really beautiful 
figure of Christ nailed on the cross, and when 
people passed below that they bowed and crossed 
themselves. 

Of course the sun was over everything, and 
there were some smells that weren’t exactly pleas- 
ant, but the whole place was pleasing, and a lot 
of its picturesque look came from the disorder 
and dirt. 

And the guests ! They were all dressed in their 
peasant best, and were laughing and joking, and 
telling Beata that they wished her many, strong 
children — this is quite a proper wish in Italy, and 
I really don’t know why it shouldn’t be anywhere ; 
but people would think it queer, I suppose, if you 
said it at a wedding in Pennsylvania, or in New 
York — and before we started for the church, which 
was down in the valley below us, we all joined 


212 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


hands and circled Beata and Pietro who stood in 
the center, holding hands and smiling at each 
other shyly. Then every one sung while we did 
this and it was very pretty to hear and to see 
and to join in. 

Then we went, arm in arm, down a winding way, 
over slopes that were grown with small, gently 
green olive trees, or between fields of green that 
were already beginning to show the brightest 
growing hue ; past a high-walled villa, and several 
tumbling houses of the poor. And whenever we 
met a person, or a group of them, they — knowing 
Beata or not — would call out a blessing upon the 
pair, and then stand, heads uncovered, until we had 
gone from sight. . . . There is something very 
warming in the frankness of the Italians ’ hearts ; 
I think perhaps, in the United States, we keep 
our hearts too heavily covered. 

In the church many candles were burning, and 
there was a little boy swinging an incense pot, 
and it was dark and cool and mysterious, after 
all the blaze of the sunshine outdoors. I liked the 
service — in spite of the fact that it was very long 
— and I enjoyed seeing how it was done. 

After it was over, we went back to Beata’s 
father’s house to find the little lame brother (who 
was getting better all the time) waiting for us at 
the gate — he had seemed glad to stay with the 
Grandmother — and Beata kissed him first, and 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


213 


then her Grandmother, and every one talked and 
langhed and joked. And then the refreshments, 
which were black bread, bright orange cheese, 
figs, and wine, were passed, and they did taste 
good. 

Just before we left a new guest came, and she 
carried the tiniest baby I had ever seen, which 
was only three days old, and I was very much sur- 
prised when I found out it was hers; because 
Daddy always makes the mothers of babies stay in 
bed at least two weeks, and sometimes much 
longer. But it seems that all the peasants get up 
after two or three days, and when this woman 
said she had had to miss the wedding because of 
doing a big wash, I was more surprised, but very 
glad she came, for she let me hold the baby, who 
was named Leo Paolo Giovanni Battista Vin- 
cenzo Negri, and was so cunning. 

When the shadows were beginning to grow long 
and turn purple, we started back toward Florence, 
which lay before us in its valley cup, with all its 
spires and towers gilded by the last, yellow-gold 
sunlight. 

I felt a little sad, going in; I don’t know why, 
unless perhaps it was because Miss Bannister and 
Miss Meek and Mr. Hemmingway had had so fine 
a time, and I kept wondering, as they talked — 
excitedly and as fast as they could and all at once 
— what they would do after we left. 


214 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


But Fate and Mr. Wake helped them. 

Early in March I heard from Miss Sheila that 
she would be in Florence some time during April, 
hut I didn’t tell Mr. Wake of this, for since that 
day at Certosa we hadn’t talked much of Miss 
Sheila. And the very same day that I heard that, 
Leslie came to me, with one of the big, square 
envelopes in her hand that came so often since 
she had written Ben Forbes. 

“Ben Forbes is coming over,” she stated. 

“Isn’t that dandy?” I answered. I had been 
practising; I had added an hour and was doing 
five a day, at that time. 

“I think so,” she said, looking down. 

“Has he ever been here before?” I asked, and 
she responded quickly and with a little remnant 
of her old irritation in her voice. 

“Heavens, yes , child!” she replied, “dozens of 
times, of course! But not lately. He says he 
realizes that he has been keeping himself too 
tightly moored, and that he wants a few weeks of 
real play. ... He wants me to plan the whole 
time for him — ” 

“Well,” I said, “I think that’s great ! What are 
you going to do?” 

“Oh, take him to the Boboli Gardens, and that 
sort of thing — he likes outdoors and isn’t too keen 
for pictures — and we’ll walk. . . . Where is that 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


215 


little place where yon bny cakes, down in that 
covered street near the Arno?” 

It seemed queer to have her ask that — I remem- 
bered so clearly her saying that she thought eat- 
ing in alleys odd — but I didn’t remind her, and 1 
told her about that, and about a place where you 
could get the best white wine, and then of a res- 
taurant where Sam had taken me that was always 
full of Italian artists, and writers and poets, and 
where you never saw the gleam of a red Baedeker. 

“He likes that sort of thing,” Leslie confided, 
“and I want him to have a good time — ” 

“Of course,” I answered. 

She sighed, and then smiled in a sort of a fool- 
ish way. “It’ll be nice to see him,” she said 
weakly. 

“I should think it would be,” I answered. 

“He’s thirty- three, ” she said, “but what’s ten 
years?” (Leslie is twenty- three) 

“Nothing,” I stated. It was easy to say the 
right thing to her that day, for she put up a sign 
post at every turn. 

i ‘ I think a man should be older than a 
woman — ” said Leslie. I suppose she meant hus- 
band and wife. 

“I do too,” I agreed, and did an arpeggio. 

“Hear about Viola?” she asked, as she leaned 
against the piano. 


216 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“No.” I stopped and looked up as she spoke. 

“Paggi had a note from a German contralto — 
she’s pretty well known too — Madame Heilbig; 
and she wants a young accompanist, and Signor 
P. has recommended Vi. . . . Viola’s to try out 
with the lady next week when she goes through 
here, and I believe Madame Heilbig will tour the 
States next year. . . . Viola will love that. 
She’s already planning what she will wear. . . . 
Do you remember how she expected to accompany 
a slim tenor with pretty brown eyes ! ’ ’ 

I did, and I laughed. 

Leslie laughed too, but not as kindly as I had — 
really she didn’t — for she and Viola, in spite of 
being friends again, still held a scratchy feeling 
toward each other. 

“Nothing ever turns out as I expect it to,” said 
Leslie, “I’m beginning to get over being surprised 
about anything. . . . Do you think a man would 
like that flower toque of mine?” 

“He will unless he’s blind,” I replied, and then 
I told her to get out, because I had to go on with 
my work, but I didn’t have much time alone, for 
in a second Viola appeared. 

“Darling,” she called from the doorway, “have 
you heard the news ?” 

I gave up then; I had to. 

“Not your version of it,” I answered; and she 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


217 


came skipping across the room to drop on a chair 
near me, and babble. There is no other descrip- 
tion of it! She was so excited that she hardly 
stopped for breath. 

“I’m going to get that position !” she an- 
nounced, “it’ll do me worlds of good — ” (It did!) 
“And mother is satisfied to stay with Aunt Clarice 
— she entertains all the time, you know — and I am 
going to wear an orchid chiffon frock, made up 
over silver cloth, perhaps, and Signor Paggi says 
I will sometimes be expected to bow too, and that 
Madame Heilbig will pay me well, and I mean to 
save — because Leslie says all her income comes 
from money her father saved — it is the only safety 
for a single woman, and capital is really the hus- 
band of an old maid, don’t you know! Or would 
you wear lavender! I thought of a brocade, and 
I could wear artificial violets because they would 
look like real ones back of the footlights, and with 
my name, they might be sort of romantic, and I 
can wear violet too, and — ” 

I sat and listened, and honestly she went on for 
a half hour like that. Then she said, “Hear about 
Ben Forbes!” 

“Yes,” I answered. 

“Simply romantic! 9 9 

“Um hum — ” 

“Taking him to the Boboli Gardens, and all that 


218 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


— artful , you know. . . . Think of having a pro- 
posal in one of those arched-over pathways in that 
heavenly place ! Oh!” 

“Probably won’t,’ ’ 1 said. 

“He will too,” Viola disagreed, “she’ll fix it! 

. . . Look here, did you hear about his cook?” 

I hadn’t, and I said so quickly, because I was 
interested. 

“In the letter before this last one,” said Viola, 
“I think it came yesterday, he told Leslie — oh, 
in detail, my dear ! — about his ranch, and the way 
the ranch house looked and all that. Made it 
frightfully attractive, told her about the patio, 
what is a patio, anyway?” 

“Enclosed court,” I answered, “I think they 
have them in some of the ranch houses in the 
southwest. They are sort of Mexican — ” 

“I see; well, he told her about that, and about 
how the sunsets looked on the mountains, it was a 
perfect love of a letter, but what I was getting at 
was this — he said he had a one-eyed Chinese cook 
who could spit eight feet. Can you imagine Leslie 
with that?” 

I laughed. It did seem awfully funny. 

Viola laughed too, but as Leslie had, which was 
not in an entirely kind way, and then she went on 
to say almost exactly what Leslie had said about 
her. 

“It’ll be the making of her,” she said (and it 


A COUNTRY WEDDING 


219 


was !), “but I never would have believed she would 
allow herself to care for a man who lives in the 
middle of nowhere. However, nothing turns out 
as one expects it to. I guess I ought to leave 
you?” 

“You ought to,” I agreed, “but I don’t suppose 
you will — ” 

“Oh, do come have tea with me,” said Leslie 
from the doorway, and I gave up. We went to 
her room to find her bed covered with the veils 
which she had been trying on over her flowered 
toque. 

“A woman should look her best,” she said, but 
she flushed and avoided looking at us as she said 
it. 

“When will he be here?” asked Viola. 

“Who?” asked Leslie coolly, but something 
made her drop the shoe horn with which she was 
measuring out the tea, and then knock a cream 
puff from a heavy piece of china that had been 
designed to hold soap. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 


FIE SOLE, A CLEAR HOT DAY AND A COOL 
GARDEN 

PRIL came in as gently and softly as a 



JT\ month could possibly come, and it held more 
loveliness than I had ever dreamed could be. The 
sun was growing too warm and, some days, the 
heat was oppressive and going out unwise; but 
most of the days were flawless jewels that began 
with brown which merged into green, topped and 
finished with the blue, blue sky. 

It was in the second week in April that we went 
up to Fiesole, that proud little town that perches 
on a high hill, and looks down so scornfully on the 
Florence that has always made war upon her. 

I had been there before with Sam, and we had 
gone up the winding road, to the place where there 
are relics of Roman baths and the remains of a 
Roman Temple and an open, half-circled Roman 
theater. But that had been in the winter, and 
now it was spring ! 

Viola and I went up alone, for Leslie was out 
somewhere with Ben Forbes, who had arrived the 
night before. And all the way up Viola talked 
of Leslie’s getting married — and she wasn’t even 


220 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 221 

engaged then — and of what she, Viola, wonld wear 
while en tour , which was what she called her trav- 
eling with Madame Heilbig — who had liked her 
playing, and instantly engaged her — and of how 
she, Viola, intended to go on and some day accom- 
pany some one who was really great, while I looked 
out at the country which was so beautiful. 

I didn’t mind Viola’s talking very much, al- 
though I would have been glad to look on all that 
loveliness in silence, but I was glad, when we 
reached Fiesole — which is so high that it seems 
to cling uncertainly to the top of the hill — and 
found on reaching there that Viola went off with 
Mr. Wake, and that I walked with Sam. 

“And how’s everything?” he asked, after he 
had smiled down at me in the kindest way, and 
told me that he liked my broad hat which I had 
bought at the Mercato Nuovo for five lire which 
is now about twenty-five cents. 

“Better and better,” I answered, and then I 
told him all the news, as I always did when we 
met. We met a good deal too, but there always 
seemed to be a lot to say. It is like that when 
you are real friends. 

“Miss Bannister,” I said, “has had luck. A 
nephew of hers has lost his wife, which is hard on 
him, but fine for Miss Bannister, because he wants 
her to come to Devonshire and live in his house, 
and attend to giving the cook and what Miss Ban- 


222 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


nister calls ‘the scullery maid’ their orders. And 
he sent her ten pounds — how much is that, Sam?” 

“About fifty hard bones, dear,” he answered. 
(I was quite used to his calling me “dear,” and I 
liked it) 

“Well, that is all for clothes,” I stated, “and 
I’m going to help her buy them.” 

“Can you get more than one frock with that?” 
asked Sam, and I told him that she certainly 
could, for only the day before Leslie and I had 
shopped. She had helped me to buy the things I 
was going to take home to Mother, Roberta, the 
twins, and Daddy, and we had got lovely things at 
most reasonable prices. Hand-embroidered, hand- 
made night dresses could be bought for a dollar 
and a half; waist patterns wonderfully embroid- 
ered, for two dollars; laces (and the laces were 
beautiful ) , for about half what one would pay at 
home — I had bought Mother a set of broad Irish 
lace collars and cuffs for four dollars — and quite 
everything was like that, one paid less, and got 
more. 

“Leslie got uncurled ostrich feather fans for 
some of her friends,” I went on, “she said for 
half what she would have to pay for the cheapest 
at home — they were twelve and fifteen dollars, I 
think — and she got leather frames and hand- 
bound books too, that were beautiful.” Then I 
told Sam that I had found for Father a hand- 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 223 

tooled card case that I wanted him to see, and he 
said he wanted to, and then he said he was 
miserable. 

“Why?” I asked, and he told me because I was 
going away. 

“That won’t stop onr being friends,” I an- 
swered, and I pretended a cheerfulness that I 
really didn’t feel. 

“No,” he answered, “it mustn’t. I’m going to 
work hard,” he continued, “and I’m coming over 
to New York in a year or so for a one man 
show — ” (I suppose I looked as if I didn’t under- 
stand — for I didn’t — and he explained) “That 
means,” he said, “an exhibition of my work, all 
by itself — Mr. Wake, bless him, thinks I can swing 
it, and when I come over I’ll come to see you. 
But you knew that, didn’t you?” 

“Will you really f" 1 questioned, because I did 
want to be very sure, and he said he really would. 

“But then,” I said, “you’ll probably go 
again — ” 

“Um, probably. ... I used to travel with a 
banjo tucked under one arm, and a palette under 
the other. . . . But I see where, in a couple of 
years, things are going to be more complicated, 
if I can manage what I want to — 99 

I didn’t understand him, but I let it go, because 
Mr. Wake and Viola had come out of the Cathe- 
dral which dominates the wind-swept Piazza at 


224 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

Fiesole, and Mr. Wake came over to tell Sam to 
take me in and show me the bust of a Bishop and 
his monument that were made by Mino da Fiesole, 
and that Mr. Wake liked very much. 

We went in, past the beggars who sat on the 
steps with open, upturned palms, past an old lady 
who was selling baskets, and swore at us dread- 
fully when we refused to buy them — among her 
swearing was a curse which consists of “Darn 
the fishes,’ ’ and that is very, very wicked in Ital- 
ian! — and then, inside we saw the — Sarcophagus, 
Sam called it, and loitered around, and then went 
back out into the glare and stifling heat that was 
over everything outside. 

We found Mr. Wake and Viola across the big 
Piazza, loitering in the shade, and Mr. Wake said 
that it was too hot for anything but his own shady 
garden and iced tea, and so we left the funny, 
pretty little town and started down a narrow 
roadway that ran between high walls, or slopes 
that were covered with olive trees. 

Every color was accentuated. . . . Houses that 
were faint pink, seemed salmon; greens almost 
clashed ; the dust of the roadway was a vivid yel- 
low, and down in the hollow below us, Florence 
spread out, a steaming, gleaming mass of tightly 
packed palaces, shining spires, and gleaming 
towers. 

“Ah, Giotto,” said Mr. Wake, as we halted at 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 225 

a bend in the way and looked down at our own 
city. He said this, for he loved the tower that 
Giotto had planned and had seen half built before 
his death. “Ever hear,” said Mr. Wake, “of how 
the little Giotto was found, and how he was helped 
to become the great artist that he was?” 

I hadn’t, and I said so. Viola thought she had, 
but she said she forgot so many things, when Mr. 
Wake questioned her a little. 

“Well,” he said, “since Viola has forgotten, 
and Jane frankly admits she doesn’t know, in- 
dulge an old man in his love of the telling of 
picturesque stories.” 

“I love them,” I said, for I really did. His 
stories were about people who had lived and died, 
and they never had Irish or Hebrew or Swedish 
people in them to make him try a dialect. I don’t 
care so very much for that sort. And Mr. Wake 
didn’t even try to be funny, which is unusual in a 
man. 

“Well,” he said, as he took off his hat and 
mopped his brow, “one day when Cimabue, who 
was a great artist, and a fine chap, was strolling 
through the country he came to a clearing in 
which a little boy was tending sheep. And per- 
haps because he was in an ill humor — probably 
thinking all art was going to the bad, for he was 
a critic too, you know, and critics have thought 
that since the beginning of paint— anyway, I feel 


226 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

that an ill humor set upon him, and that he was, 
because of it, minded to stop, and divert himself 
by talking a hit to a little country lad. 

“And he said ‘ Hello , ’ in Italian of course, and 
the little hoy answered ‘Master, I salute you — 9 
and Cimabue drew near. And when near, he 
looked down at a rock upon which the little hoy 
had drawn a picture with a bit of soft, crumbling 
stone. The picture was good, and Cimabue felt a 
thrill sweep over him — the selfsame sort of thrill 
that I feel when Sam shows my dull eyes a bit of 
his genius — and he took the little boy with him, 
after he saw his people, and the little boy grew up 
to paint pictures of people. Before he painted — 
early in thirteen hundred, legend has it, all the 
pictures had been of stiff, remote, too holy Saints. 
But little Giotto, who had learned love and wis- 
dom of the fields and trees and birds and beasts, 
painted Madonnas who smiled, and little babies 
who held out their arms to be taken, and proud 
Josephs who seem to say, ‘Please look at my fam- 
ily. 9 . . . Painted, what Ruskin called, ‘Mamma 
and Papa and the baby/ ... I thank you, ladies 
and gentleman ,’ 9 he ended, with mock ceremony, 
“for your kind attention!” 

Then he paused outside of a wall that had once 
been pink, but had been washed by the rain and 
faded by sun until it was only a faint peach in a 
few sheltered spots, and here he rang a bell. 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 227 

Soon after he did this, a girl opened the gate 
for us, greeted Mr. Wake and us all with real 
sweetness, and we trooped into his garden. And 
I was glad to see it, for I loved Mr. Wake and I 
wanted to see where he lived, but I would have 
enjoyed it in any case, for it was — without excep- 
tion — the prettiest place I had ever seen. 

There were high walls all around it except on 
the side that looked down upon Florence. Here 
the view was interrupted, rather edged, by groups 
of tall, slender cypress trees, and here was a low, 
marble balustrade. . . . There were vines and 
clumps of foliage, and in the center of the lower 
terrace a little fountain with a laughing cupid in 
its center. . . . And there were wicker chairs with 
hoods on them — Sam said that they were called 
beach chairs — and there was a yellow awning with 
a bright blue star on it, which had once been the 
sail of a Venetian fishing craft. ... I cannot de- 
scribe it. . . . While I was there I could only feel 
it, and hope I wouldn’t wake. ... I sank down 
in a chair that had a footstool near it, and looked 
down the green hillside, toward the city of towers. 

“Like it?” asked Sam, as he dropped on the 
footstool, and after my nod, lit a cigarette. 

“Oh,” I murmured. 

“Didn’t exaggerate, did I?” he went on. 

“No,” I answered, “you couldn’t.” Then Mr. 
Wake came up, followed by Viola who was mur- 


228 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


muring, “ Enchanting, ” “ Adorable,’ ’ and “Too 
heavenly ,” one right after the other. And after 
he had come to stand smiling down at me, I men- 
tioned Miss Sheila for the first time. 

“Mr. Wake,” I said, “My fairy godmother 
would love this more than I can say. It’ll seem 
strange to you, but she has talked to me of a place 
like this. She really has.” 

“Look here,” said Mr. Wake to Sam, “you and 
Viola go hunt up some tea, will you — ” 

And Sam said, “Of course,” and stood up. 

“And show Viola your last picture,” Mr. Wake 
added, “and tahe your time to it!” 

“Yes, Sir ” said Sam, and very nicely, consid- 
ering the fact that he and Viola don’t get on very 
well. 

After he had gone, Mr. Wake took out his 
cigarette case and lit a cigarette, and then sat 
down on the end of a chaise longue. 

“My dear,” he said, “I’ve a long story to tell 
you. . . . And you must be kind and remember 
that it is the first time I have ever told it, and that 
— the telling it is hard because — I care so — deeply. 
. . . But I guess you’d best know, and why I don’t 
want to meet your — your Miss Sheila. I believe 
you’d best know, for you will wonder why I am so 
rude, if I don’t explain. . . . The garden, by the 
way, is the kind Miss Sheila would like because— 
long, long years ago— when I was young in heart 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 229 

and body — she talked of a garden like this, to me 
* — her lover.’ ’ 

He paused to stare down upon Florence for 
some moments, and then, after he had drawn a 
deep breath, he went on. 

“About twenty years ago,” he said, “when I 
was a boy, and named Terrence O’Gilvey — and 
right off the the sod, Jane — I came to New York. 
I had done a bit of writing or two, even then, and 
I went on a paper ; and, because of my Irish man- 
ner I think, my little things took. Anyway, the 
first thing I knew a well-known newspaper man 
named Ford, and then the Danas and some others 
began to believe in me and to be kind to me, and 
I knew I had got hold of the first rung anyway, 
and I was mighty happy. I thought I was as 
happy as any man could be until I met Sheila 
Parrish, and then I was in hell . . . and yet . . . 
happier than I had ever been before — and, faith, 
all because I was so deep in love with her ! 

“It was a quick business, Jane. She smiled 
gently, and I was gone. I wanted to get down 
and let her use my vest for a doormat ; I wanted 
several other things that might seem extravagant 
to one of your solid small tread and common sense, 
but none of them were enough extravagant nor 
enough of an outlet for all that she had taught me 
to feel. 

“Well, she was good to me. And she let me 


230 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

come to see her, and I sent her posies, and I wrote 
her what I am afraid were rhymes, and no more — 
but by all the Saints, child, what I felt ! And then 
one day Heaven opened, and she — she stretched 
out her lovely hands to me, and she said, ‘You 
are more than a dear Irish boy, Terry; I believe 
you are a man, and I believe I will listen to your 
story — ’ ” 

He stopped speaking, and I put my hand out, 
and laid it on his — I was so sorry for him ! 

For a moment we sat like this, and then he went 
on. 

“She had a younger brother,’ ’ he said, “God 
rest his soul! He was bad — as reckless and 
vicious a youth as has ever been my unhappy for- 
tune to see, and how he hurt Sheila. I saw it, and 
I suffered a thousand times for her. I’d find her 
with tears on her cheeks, and know that some new 
devilishness had cropped out. And I railed, as 
youth will rail, Jane, and it drove her from me. 
. . . When, (a long story this, but I can’t seem to 
shorten it) after she had set the date for our wed- 
ding, her younger brother was found to have tuber- 
culosis, and she said that I must wait, while she 
went west with him and fought with him for health, 
I lost control of every brake I had, and I went 
to pieces. 

“And well, I remember it! Her standing in 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 231 

the high ceilinged drawing room of the old New 
York home, and saying, ‘Well, Terry, if yon make 
me choose, I can do only one thing. I cannot evade 
duty. My brother may not last a year — ’ and I 
turned and went — 

“And the next day I wrote her, but I had no 
answer. And that was the end of it, and of every- 
thing, and you see, now, why I can’t — meet her.” 

“Why did you change your name!” I asked. I 
am too dull to say the appropriate thing, so I 
usually ask or say what I really want to. 

“An Uncle wanted to adopt me .... He was 
a lonely old chap ; I had no one, and I thought he 
was mighty pathetic, until he died and left me a 
more than fair sized fortune, (A great thing to 
have, Jane, by the way, if you’ve a fancy for 
writing books!) and then, well I thought he was 
a humbug, but I was grateful, and I have been 
ever since — ” 

He stood up and smiled down at me. No one 
who hadn’t known him for long would have 
thought his smile stiff, or forced, but I knew that 
it was. 

“But are you over caring for her?” I asked. 
‘ ‘ I didn ’t know if it were very real, that it would 
change — ” 

“lam not,” he answered, “what you term ‘over 
it,’ and there is no changing for me, but for my 


232 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


peace I think less of it and of the hopes that the 
boy named Terrence O’Gilvey sent up to his 
gods.” 

Then, Viola and Sam came wandering back to 
stand on the upper terrace uncertainly, and Mr. 
Wake called to them. 

‘ ‘Come on down,” he said, ‘ 1 we ’re ready for 
our tea — ” 

And then a maid who wore a scarlet waist, and 
a black skirt with scarlet bands around it, a little 
white cap on her head, and a Roman striped 
scarf around her waist, came toward us with a big 
tray which she set on a table that Sam brought up. 

It was very, very pretty. . . . But it suddenly 
seemed hollow. ... I wondered whether it were 
always hollow for Mr. Wake. . . . And I thought 
how nice it would be if pretty Miss Sheila were 
smiling at him from across the table, and knew, 
without asking, how many lumps of sugar he 
would take, and whether his tea should be strong 
or weak. 

“How many loads,” asked Sam as he picked up 
the sugar spoon. 

“Two for me,” I answered. 

“None,” said Viola who is afraid of fat. 

“Where is Leslie?” asked Mr. Wake who had 
evidently just noticed her absence. 

“In the Boboli gardens,” answered Viola, on 
a guess that later proved correct. 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 233 

“Hum — hope she drove over. Aren’t they 
warning people at the bridges to-day?” he ended, 
with a questioning look toward Sam who had gone 
down to the town that morning. (On very hot 
days sentinels, who stand at the entrance to the 
bridges, warn people against crossing them, for it 
is a risk to do this during the middle hours of 
the day) 

“ No, ’ ’ Sam replied, ‘ ‘ I wandered over the Ponte 
Vecchio without a word from any one — ” 

“The real heat will come soon,” Mr. Wake 
prophesied. 1 i Think , 9 9 he went on, I ’ll go to Swit- 
zerland in June.” 

“Poor Miss Meek,” I put in, “hates the heat so 
and has to stay here — ” 

“Pshaw,” said Mr. Wake, “that is too bad — 
Look here,” he said quickly, after a second’s 
pause, “I have some Italian friends who want a 
governess ; I believe they are going to Yiareggio 
for the hot months. Would she touch that?” 

“She’d love it,” I answered quickly, “she’s 
wanted a post for ages, but it’s so hard to get 
one now, since every one’s so poor from the 
war — 99 

“And fancy the little Italian beggars saying, 
4 My eye! How jolly,’ ” put in Sam. 

Every one laughed. “Won’t hurt ’em,” said 
Mr. Wake easily, “for they won’t know it’s not 
top notch proper and the latest thing! I’ll talk 


234? A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


to Lucca to-morrow, and after that I’ll let you 
know, Jane. Believe I can fix it — ” 

And he did. 

I thought of him a lot going down. So much 
that Sam thought I felt badly from the heat. But 
the heat hadn’t made my depression. I had so 
wanted Miss Sheila and Mr. Wake to know and 
like each other. They were both lonely, and I 
loved them both and they seemed alike and suited 
to like each other in lots of ways. And I could 
tell that Mr. Wake needed Miss Sheila from the 
manner in which he had talked of her at the be- 
ginning of our friendship. And now it was all 
over; I could never present my dear friend to 
her, nor talk of my Fairy Godmother to him! 

It did seem all wrong, but as Leslie and Viola 
both said, things turn out as one doesn’t expect 
them to. 

I had hoped — of course it was silly — but I had 
hoped a lot. And now even my chance for hoping 
had disappeared. 

“Are you sure,” asked Sam, “that the heat 
hasn’t done you up?” 

“Sure,” I answered dully. 

“He’s wild over you,” said Viola as we toiled 
up the stairs that we had come to call “The last, 
long mile.” . . . We had sent Sam off at the 
door, because he had to walk back to the Piazza 
del Duomo again to get his car, and the town was 


EIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 235 

still heavy and sultry with the heat that the day 
had held. 

1 4 Nonsense !” I answered sharply. 

“Yes, he is. We might have a double wed- 
ding — ” 

I was furious. 

“I’m going home to play the organ in the First 
Presbyterian Church,” I stated, “and to give 
music lessons, and I won’t have time to get mar- 
ried for years!" 

She laughed. 

“I’m only eighteen,” I added, and with resent- 
ment. 

“I’ll bet on twenty for you,” she said teasingly. 

“Not before I’m twenty-one,” I answered be- 
fore I thought, and then I grew pink. Viola 
laughed, as Maria, the new maid, opened the door 
for us. 4 4 Oh, he ’ll get you, ’ ’ she prophesied , 4 4 and 
he’ll court you divinely. ... It’s plain that he 
doesn’t like me, but I like and admire him in spite 
of it. . . . And you know lots of women go right 
along with their careers after marriage.” 

I didn’t answer that, but I did know that if I 
ever did marry, my first thought would be to fol- 
low, as nearly as I could, the fine career my Mother 
had had and to make my husband as comfortable 
and as happy as Mother had made Father. For I 
feel that that should come first. 

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said, sharply, after 


236 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


we had gone in the cool, dim corridor, “I don’t 
want to have to think about it yet.” 

“ Sorry,” she said. And I said I was sorry I 
had been cross. Then the Pension door opened 
again, and Leslie, followed by a tall, bronzed man, 
came in. I liked his looks, and I was reassured for 
him, after I met him, for he had something of 
Leslie’s manner — an almost lordly, commanding, 
I-want-what-I-want-when-I-want - it - and - 1 - intend - 
to-get-it air. I think a good many people who 
have had too much money and have been able to 
issue too many orders get that. But if Leslie 
was going to marry him — and I found soon she 
was — I knew he would need it. 

He stayed for dinner and was very charming to 
every one, but most charming to Leslie and after 
he left, Leslie came to my room to talk. 

4 ‘Well?” she questioned from the doorway. 

“I like him,” I answered, as she came toward 
me. 

“I love him,” she said, and she said it as sen- 
sibly and openly as I had ever heard her say any- 
thing, “and,” she continued, “he is going to let 
me marry him.” 

I laughed, and she joined me. 

“It isn’t a joke,” she stated after a moment. 

“I know it,” I answered. 

“He said he had been worried ever since that 
New York visit, over hurting me,” she went on, 


FIESOLE, HOT DAY, COOL GARDEN 237 

“and that, when I dismissed him, he realized he 
had been stupid in not knowing before that I had 
grown up. And he said, when he realized I was 
grown up, that he suddenly began to care for me 
in a different way. And yon know how I feel — ” 
(She fumbled for a pink linen handkerchief, 
wiped her eyes and then blew her nose) 

“And when I told him I’d cried over him, it 
almost killed him, but — he liked it,” she ended. 

I knew he would have liked it, because men 
all do thoroughly enjoy hearing about women who 
cry because they love them (the men) which 
seems funny when you consider that, if the same 
men see them cry, they almost have a fit and are 
far from comfortable. But, as I read in some 
book, Life is one vast riddle. 

“I’m very happy,” said Leslie, as she stood up. 
And I said I was very glad and that I hoped she 
would keep on being so even after she was mar- 
ried and settled down. And she said she expected 
to, and then she said, in a quick, remembering 
way, “Oh — ” and brought out an unstamped note 
that was addressed to me by Miss Sheila. 

“Ben brought this,” she said, “I think from 
New York; anyway he saw Aunt Sheila some- 
where — ” and then she left, and I, alone, read the 
note, which held surprising and nice news for me. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 


M ISS SHEILA was at the Convent of San 
Girolamo, which is a hospital that is man- 
aged by nuns, at Fiesole. And she had written 
me about her plan to go there before the ship 
landed. 

“I was very stupid and caught a little cold,” 

(I saw in her pretty hand. Later I found out that 
she had come as close to pneumonia as any one 
can!) 

“and the ship's doctor thinks I should rest a little while. 
So I am going to San Girolamo where I spent a few 
happy weeks when I was a girl and half ailing, and you, 
dear child, must come to see me there. I am going to 
ask you not to tell Leslie I am here just now. I am very 
much ashamed to confess it, but the idea of much chatter 
appals me. Ben — who I imagine may see her! — has 
promised to keep quiet until I am myself, and ready to 
join in all the fun. And then — some parties! 

“Meanwhile, my dear, only your quiet, small self, 
and I hope I shall see you soon — Friday? You need not 
let me know if you can't come then, but if you can, be 
assured of a warm welcome from your 

“Loving 

“Sheila P.” 


238 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 239 


Of course I went, and as soon as I saw Miss 
Sheila I knew why she was afraid of noise, for it 
was easy to see that she had been really sick. She 
was quite as pretty as ever, hut her skin looked too 
transparent and it flushed too easily, and I noticed 
that small heads of perspiration stood out on her 
smooth forehead and short upper lip, simply from 
the little exertion and excitement of seeing me. 
As soon as I noticed that, I talked, very slowly 
and steadily, about the valley that lay below us, 
and I didn’t look at her until, after a silence, she 
said : 

“Jane — you are rather a marvelous child, do 
you know it? 'And a great comfort. You have 
what made your mother the best nurse I have ever 
known, a great deal of real understanding 

Well, I didn’t agree with her, and I knew she 
was too kind, but I did have enough understanding 
of her stretched, weak, shaky feeling to know that 
it wasn’t the time to say — as Leslie or Viola would 
— “How perfectly sweet of you ! I am enchanted ! 
Nothing could please me more ! But why did you 
say that? Won’t you explain?” 

Instead I said “Thank you,” which may have 
given the impression that I accepted all she said — 
however, that didn’t matter; the thing that mat- 
tered was getting her to sit back in her deck chair 
and lose her wound up feeling and really rest. 

“How is it going?” she asked, after I had asked 


240 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


the name of a big monastery that lay about half 
way down the hill below us. 

‘ ‘Very well,” I answered, ‘ 4 Mother wrote me 
that the music committee of the Presbyterian 
Church are going to employ a substitute until I 
come back; that they told Daddy I was really 
engaged. And Signor Paggi is going to see that 
I have some lessons from an organist here to 
freshen me up — I took organ lessons at home, you 
know — and no end of people tell Mother that they 
are going to take lessons from me, and it’s all 
very satisfactory, and so wonderful that some- 
times I can’t believe it is true!” 

Miss Sheila smiled at me, said a warm, “Dear 
child!” and then I could feel her draw into a shell. 
I think that she was afraid I would try to thank 
her for all that she’d done, and that she wasn’t 
equal to it. So I said, very quickly, “It’s a nice 
day, isn’t it?” and she answered with relief. 

Then a sweet-faced sister came toward us be- 
tween the rose bushes which made a narrow path 
of the terrace up to the open spot where we sat. 
She carried a cup of chocolate for Miss Sheila, 
and she wanted to get one for me, but I wouldn’t 
let her. Then she said, “Drink this, dear,” to 
Miss Sheila; asked if she were tired, looked at 
me searchingly, and then smiled and gave my 
shoulder a little pat, and went off in her gentle, 
smooth way. 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 241 


“They are so kind,” said Miss Sheila, “and 
sometimes I think that this is the most beautiful 
spot in the world.” 

I didn’t blame her for thinking so, (though her 
thinking so confessed that she hadn’t seen Mr. 
Wake’s garden) for the place is most lovely. It 
is, in some way connected with Cosimo I, it is 
said, and the Medici coat of arms is to be found 
around in different spots. It is a very old build- 
ing, and it is, like everything else on the hillside, 
perched on the slant with all its lovely gardens 
planted on steps. And down below spreads out 
the country with little blazing yellow roadways, 
and pink and tan villas, and groves of gentle green 
olive trees, and a church and monastery that often 
send up the soft sound of bells. . . . And of 
course the sunshine spreads over everything like 
a gold mantle, and the little grey-green olive leaves 
shimmer under every small breeze that comes 
along, and sometimes the song of a peasant girl 
rises. . . . And of course there were rose leaves 
scattered on the terraces — blown from this or that 
bush — and the scents of many flowers in the warm 
soft air. 

I can’t describe it, but some day some one will 
describe it, and then he will be able to build a villa 
that is richer and prouder and larger than another 
one that the Medicis built out near Fiesole — the 
one where Queen Victoria often visited — for a 


242 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


real description would make a real fortune ! 

“You like it, don’t you?” asked Miss Sheila, 
after she had drunk the chocolate and eaten the 
small biscuit, and I had set her cup down on the 
soft, short grass. I nodded. It is hard for me 
to say I like things when I do like them very much. 

“It has changed you,” said Miss Sheila, “there 
is a new light in your eyes ; the light of dreams, 
I think — and now tell me about things, your 
friends, your work, and Signor Paggi — ” and I 
did. 

Of course I had to mention Mr. Wake, and each 
time I did I faltered and grew conscious, although 
there was no reason for my doing this, since Miss 
Sheila had not known Terrence Wake, but a boy 
who was Terrence O’Gilvey. 

He came up quite naturally through my hopes 
for Miss Meek, and Mr. Wake’s plan for Mr. Hem- 
mingway — he was going to let Mr. Hemmingway 
stay in his villa for the summer months, which 
would be a great treat for any one and heaven 
for a man who had lived for years in a dull pen- 
sion — and through his befriending Sam, who was 
doing so well, and promising to do much more than 
well. 

“How kind your Mr. Wake must be,” said Miss 
Sheila. 

“He is,” I answered. 

“I’d like to meet him,” she said. 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 243 

“He’s dreadfully shy,” I responded, after that 
kind of a hard swallow that rasps and scratches 
as it goes down. 

“Heavens, and earth! No man ought to be 
afraid of an old woman like me!” Miss Sheila 
mused. 

“You aren’t old,” I put in, and almost sharply. 
“You have a prettier skin than I have, and as 
Leslie said, your silver hair simply adds a note 
of ‘chic.’ ” 

Miss Sheila laughed. “That sounds like Les- 
lie,” she commented, and that led her to change 
the subject, for which I was grateful. “Odd, my 
coming over with Ben Forbes, wasn’t it? ” 

“Yes, wasn’t it?” 

‘ ‘ Nice man, really. Has something of the Grand 
Commander manner, but — he’ll need it. Splendid 
arrangement I honestly think. ... I want to 
meet your Sam.” 

“I want you to meet him. But he’s not mine,” 
I answered. 

“But I hope you’ll marry some time,” said Miss 
Sheila. “Go home and work a few years if you 
like, dear, but if you care for any one, and any one 
cares for you, don’t let any one, or anything stand 
between you; it doesn’t pay.” She paused a mo- 
ment. “But,” she continued after this little in- 
terval, “if love doesn’t come, I think that a pro- 
fession to which you really belong, and a work that 


244 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

would expand through your own effort, and so 
grow more interesting to you all the time — I think 
that this would be a good insurance against lone- 
liness.’ ’ 

I looked at her quickly as she spoke of loneli- 
ness. She was staring off down below where there 
was a two wheeled, peasant cart lumbering up a 
winding hill road; but I felt that she didn’t see 
that, nor even hear the shrill, protesting squeaks 
that came from the unoiled hubs; and for that 
moment she came as close to looking tired and 
faded as I had ever seen her look. 

“ Sometimes,” she stated, in the crisp way she 
occasionally spoke, ‘ 4 being an old maid is a lonely 
business; especially when one is half ill, Jane, 
and would like a man to tiptoe into the room and 
knock over the waste basket, and get off a muffled 
‘Damn,’ and poke the smelling salts at you, and 
then wheeze out a loudly whispered, ‘Feeling any 
letter V 99 

Her picture made me smile, but it made me 
feel very sad for her, and it all did seem so use- 
less, when down the hill, not half a mile, Mr. Wake 
was so lonely, too ! But of course I could do noth- 
ing about it. 

After about an hour with Miss Sheila that day, 
I stood up, and said I guessed I’d better be going, 
and Miss Sheila said “Oh, no, dear!” But I in- 
sisted, and so she kissed me, and I went off, to 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 245 


pause at the end of that rose sheltered terrace 
and wave back at her. Then I went through the 
rest of the garden, and past the little chapel where 
a sweet-faced young girl knelt before the altar — 
she was about to take the vows, I heard later — 
and out through the gate and down the very long, 
wide, shady stone steps that are guarded on either 
side by tall cypress trees which, there, seemed like 
sentinels. 

Then — up a little hill to the Piazza at Fiesole, 
which was wild with a high, hot breeze, and there 
I took the car that clanged its way down the hill- 
side into sultry Florence. 

That day began my visiting Miss Sheila, and I 
went up to Fiesole by myself four times in the 
next two weeks, and then again with Viola, and 
Leslie and Ben Forbes — who seemed to linger on 
— and it was on that last afternoon that Miss 
Sheila said, ‘ ‘ Bother ! Why didn ’t I think of Sam ! 
I wanted to meet him, and you knew it, Jane! 
Why didn’t you speak of asking him to-day?” 

I hadn’t thought that she would want him, and 
I said so, for I had supposed that the party was 
to be sort of a family affair because of Leslie’s 
and Ben’s engagement. 

“Well,” said Miss Sheila, “no matter. Bring 
him up Sunday afternoon.” 

Sunday was a beautiful day in spite of the fact 
that there was no air stirring and a feeling of 


246 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


weight over everything. Leslie said she knew it 
would rain — she was angry over it, because she 
and Ben had planned to motor in the Cascine and 
then out somewhere in the country — but I said I 
thought it wouldn’t, without rapping on wood; 
and as I may have said before, it never hurts to 
rap on wood, whether you are superstitious, or 
not. But I didn’t. Instead, I placed my entire 
trust in Fate and put on a white lawn dress and the 
hat I had bought at the Mercato Nuovo which I 
had trimmed with some flowers that cost very 
little. 

At one I started out with Sam, for he had asked 
me to go somewhere and have lunch with him be- 
fore we started up to the Convent on the hillside. 

We had a good time over our lunch — which we 
had in the coolest and most shadowed outdoor 
cafe we could find — and Sam ordered the green 
macaroni which is manufactured in Bologna — and 
some cold chicken and a salad, and some wine of 
course, and then a sweet that is very famous in 
Rome, and wonderfully good. And as we ate we 
talked the way we always do, which is hard. 

Then we stood up, and I brushed the crumbs 
from my lap, and told Sam that he had a piece of 
green macaroni on the lapel of his coat, and after 
that we started toward the Piazza del Duomo, 
walking slowly and keeping on the shady side 
of the deep, narrow streets. 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 247 

In the Piazza Sam bonght me a little bunch 
of blue flowers which were combined with yellow 
daisies, and I slipped these in under my broad 
sash, and after that we took the car and began 
our ride up to Fiesole. 

“I’m awfully keen to meet Miss Parrish,” said 
Sam, “ because you like her so. She isn’t like her 
niece, is she?” 

1 i Oh, no ! ” I answered quickly, ‘ ‘ not at all ! ’ ’ 

“Does she believe in careers for women and 
all that sort of rot?” asked Sam, as a fat woman 
who carried a baby and was followed by five chil- 
dren and a poodle dog, got on. 

“No,” I answered, and then I told him what 
Miss Sheila had advised. 

“Going to take her advice?” asked Sam, and he 
turned in the seat and leaned way over me 
until he could see under the brim of my broad 
hat. 

“I don’t know,” I answered, although I did, all 
suddenly and at that minute. 

“Don’t you?” he repeated, “Oh, Jane!” 

And he looked so miserable — he really did — 
that I said I did know. And then I looked out of 
the window, although there wasn’t much to see 
just at that point except a tan stucco wall, with 
pink and blue tiles set in it. 

“You’re too young to bother,” said Sam, as he 
plaited the end of my sash which I had been care- 


248 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


ful not to sit on because I didn’t want it crushed, 
‘‘but when you get along to the age when I dare 
court you, I’ll tell you — ” he drew a deep breath — 
“Well, you’ll see!” he ended, in a half threaten- 
ing way. 

I didn’t answer that. 

“And if I hear of your looking at anybody else,” 
he went on, “I’ll come over and fill him up with 
buckshot.” 

That made me laugh. 

“It’s no joke,” he said quickly, “I’m miserable 
over — your going off — and when I think that 
some one else may make you like him — oh, the 
dickens of a lot — well, then I can’t — I simply 
can’t see straight — 99 

“I won’t look at anybody,” I promised, “until 
you come — ” 

It seemed to please him. In fact it seemed to 
please him so much that I had to remind him that 
we were in a street car and that people might 
think it strange to see him kiss my hand — for he 
did that — but he said he didn’t give two hundred 
darns what they thought, and he asked me again 
if I meant it, and I knew I did, and I said I did ; 
and he said, “Well, then, what’s two years?” 
and he slipped a funny, old hand-made ring with a 
garnet setting, that he had always worn, over my 
finger, and I let it stay there. 

Then we reached Fiesole, and the woman who 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 249 


carried a baby, called her five children and the 
poodle dog, and they got off and the other pas- 
sengers, all in Sunday dress, followed, and then 
Sam and I. 

Miss Sheila met us at the head of the long, broad, 
cool, shady steps. 

4 ‘Hello, Sam,” she said in her dear way, “I’m 
glad to see you — ” 

He bowed, and she said suddenly, “You are a 
nice boy,” and, after he smiled and flushed and 
thanked her, she added, “I was afraid you weren’t 
nice enough — ” 

And then I felt myself grow pink. 

“Children,” she said, after that, “I want you 
to come in and wait until I get on my hat, and then 
walk with me. Will you, or have you been walk- 
ing and are you tired?” 

I said we weren’t and that it would be fine, and 
Sam echoed it and Miss Sheila put in a quick. 
“Good!” and turned and hurried toward the 
building. 

“Isn’t she beautiful, and lovely?” said Sam. 

“ Isn’t she?” I answered. 

“By jings,” he went on, “I wish Mr. Wake 
would come meet her. . . . Why won’t he? He 
got all rattled the other day when Leslie asked him 
to call on Miss Sheila with her — said he couldn’t 
talk to women, all that sort of rot, and you know 
he’s always simply tip-top — wonder—” 


250 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“Look here, Sam,” I said, “I can’t tell yon, 
but — ” 

And then Miss Sheila came back and put an 
end to my explaining nothing to Sam, and at the 
same time asking him not to press the matter of 
Mr. Wake’s meeting Miss Sheila. 

She looked as pretty as I had ever seen her 
look. She had on a lavender voile dress that had 
frilly collars and cuffs on it and a broad low sash, 
and she had on her head a drooping hat of the 
most delicate pink shade with bunches of lilacs 
trailing from it, and the combination was beauti- 
ful. 

“Ready,” she said with a smile, “and 
whither?” 

I suggested going up to the Roman theater and 
baths, but Sam, who was that afternoon so light 
hearted that he was almost silly, said he’d had a 
bath only about two hours before, and Miss Sheila 
said she’d had one only a few minutes before, and 
that she preferred walking down hill. 

“But you’ll have to walk back,” I said, for I 
didn’t want to get near Mr. Wake’s house! 

“Not until the sun’s lower,” said Sam. 

“And then we could ride,” said Miss Sheila. 

“Exactly Mr. Wake’s spirit,” said Sam. “She 
ought to know him, now oughtn’t she, Jane?” 

I could do nothing with him. He acted just 


A WALK ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 251 


exactly as Daddy does when we have guests and 
Mother tries to head him oft with a little kick 
under the table. He always looks at her, and 
says, “Did you kick me, my dear! Forgotten to 
serve some one, or something? Let me see!” 
which makes it all the worse, because almost al- 
ways at that point, he is serving everything in 
the dish to one person, or telling a story he tells 
about a quick remarriage — to the guest who is re- 
married. I imagine most men are like that. 

Anyway, Sam talked — no, he did what Leslie 
would have called “raved’ ’ about Mr. Wake, and 
Miss Sheila listened and questioned and wanted 
more. 

“His books,’ ’ she said, “are delightful. . . . 
Little phrases in them make me think of some 
one I knew years ago. . . . And his kindness to 
Jane has made me like him, too. Did you say his 
place is out this way?” 

“I did,” Sam answered, “and mighty good luck 
it is, too,” he added, “for it’s going to pour — 
come on — ” 

“We’re quite as near the convent,” I put in, in 
a manner that must have been agonized. 

“But that’s up hill — ” said Miss Sheila, and 
then she and Sam began to hurry so fast that it 
was all I could do to keep up with them, and I 
hadn’t a chance to say a word. 


252 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“Sam,” I gasped as we neared Mr. Wake’s wall, 
and big, far-apart drops of rain began to fall, 
“Sam!” 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“Oh, everything!” I answered, “and you’re 
just acting like a fool , Sam — we can’t go in !” 

But Miss Sheila had pulled the bell cord that 
hung outside of the gate, and before it was opened 
the rain came down in such torrents that we were 
drenched. 

“Mr. Wake’s in town,” said Sam to me, in an 
aside. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” I snapped. 

And then the gate opened. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
MISCHIEVOUS CUPID 

T HE gate was opened by Mr. Wake — who bad 
just come back from town — and was as wet 
as we were. 

I felt my heart stop a beat and then treble its 
pace, and I swallowed hard although there was 
no real necessity for it. And as for saying a word ! 
I couldn’t have gotten out a “Boo” so that any 
one would have understood it ! 

“Hello,” said Sam, after he had sent a petition- 
ing look at me, that asked me as plainly as day, 
to introduce them, “Hello! Glad you’re here! 
. . . Miss Parrish, may I present to you our 
patron saint, Mr. Wake?” 

Then I think Sam began to see that something 
unusual was up, for they stood looking at each 
other — those two he’d wanted to have meet — and 
they didn’t say a word. It was a queer moment 
which seemed very long, that moment when we 
all stood in the hard driving, swirling rain, wait- 
ing. 

Miss Sheila broke it, and she did it by holding 
out her hand, and saying, “Well, Terry?” and 
there was a funny little twisted smile on her pretty 
253 


254 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


lips and the smile didn’t seem miles away from 
tears. 

And then Mr. Wake put his hand out, in an un- 
certain, groping sort of way, and then he said, 
“Sheila!” And I don’t think he knew he said it, 
but she did, for the color came flooding back into 
her cheeks that had been pale, and tears stood in 
her eyes. 

There wasn’t very much to tell about in that 
moment; you can’t tell about a sunset very well. 
You can say that the clouds were pink and gold, 
and that the sky was full of silver streaks, and a 
misty purple haze, but you can’t make the other 
person see it. You don’t usually do anything but 
bore him, and when you try to describe the thing 
that was so beautiful, the listener usually says, 
“I love the outdoors. Nature for me every time! 
Hear about the way Babe Ruth batted ’em out 
Thursday in Brooklyn?” or something like that 
which shows you that you have utterly failed to 
get your description across the plate. And be- 
cause of that I hesitate to try to make others see 
what I saw in Mr. Wake’s garden that stormy day. 
I can only report the pink and the gold, and the 
misty purple and the silver streaks, and do that 
badly. But oh, they were so very, very beautiful ! 

When Mr. Wake spoke he said, “You — haven’t 
changed — ” and he did it between two gulps and 
after a deep breath. 


MISCHIEVOUS CUPID 255 

Miss Sheila, who covered her feelings more 
easily than Mr. Wake, said “ Nonsense, I have 
gray hair, and wrinkles — ” 

“No — ” Mr. Wake shook his head. “No — ” he 
said again. 

She smiled at him, and her lips quivered. 

“You,” she said, “can still say pretty things, 
can’t you?” 

“To you, Sheila,” he answered, and then I 
thought that Sam and I ought to move on. I said 
so in an aside to Sam, who was acting as if he were 
sitting in an aisle seat and twisting his program 
into funny shapes while he waited — in great sus- 
pense — for the hero to get the girl just before 
the drop of the last curtain. I think men are much 
too natural at times, and that was one of them. 

After I had touched Sam’s arm, and frowned at 
him, and said, “Come on in a sibilant whisper, 
we went up to the house, and into the big, living 
hall and stood there to drain. 

“Gosh,” said Sam, after I had taken off my 
hat and was wiping poppy stains from my face — 
my hat was ruined ; the colors of my cheap flowers 
had run from the rain. . . . “Gosh, wasn’t that 
simply great! My gosh, did you see his face?” 

“Naturally,” I said, because I was so worked 
up and excited that it made me feel snappish. 

“Well, you needn’t be cutting,” said Sam as 
he tiptoed over to a window from which he could 


256 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


see Miss Sheila and Mr. Wake, who were about 
a block away down by the garden gate. “My 
soul,” he commented, after he had looked out, 
“I’ll say that’s quick work! Didn’t know he had 
it in him — great hat! ” 

“You shouldn’t spy on them, it isn’t fair,” I 
stated as I joined him. But we did look for a mo- 
ment more, at those two people who stood out- 
doors, under the savage assaults of that raging 
storm, but who felt — I’m certain — as if they 
were favored by the happiest skies of a clear June 
day. 

“Come on, Sam,” I ordered and turned. 

“Gosh ding it,” he asked as he followed me 
(“Gosh ding it” is his most intense expression), 
“wasn’t it wonderful V 9 

“Um hum — ” I murmured. 

“Are you soaked, dear?” 

“A little damp,” I admitted. 

“I’ll get Maria to make us some tea,” said Sam, 
“and I’ll take you up to Mr. Wake’s room, and 
you can shed that once-perky, now depressed frock 
and put on one of his dressing gowns. And then 
come down, and we ’ll toast you up before the fire 
I make while you change — ” 

“All right,” I agreed. 

“This way, dear — ” he said then, and I went 
with him up a twisting stairs that had a wrought 
iron balustrade, over which was growing a vine 


MISCHIEVOUS CUPID 


257 


that had its feet in a brick colored jardiniere. . . . 
It was a very, very pretty honse, and more than 
that. It was built for comfort too. There were 
soft, deep low chairs all around, and ash trays on 
tiny tables, and magazines, and books — hundreds 
of books in every room — I kept thinking of how 
Miss Sheila would like it. 

After I had taken off my dress, and hung it over 
the only chair in the room that wouldn’t be hurt 
by moisture, I put on the dark green dressing 
gown that Sam had laid out for me, and went down 
stairs again — holding the robe up around me, for 
of course it was miles long for me, and it made me 
go carefully for fear I would trip. 

Sam had two chairs before the big fireplace, 
and in this a few sticks were burning. When he 
saw me, he laughed, and I laughed too, and then 
we settled. Maria came in with a tray that had on 
it an orange china tea set, that looked very pretty 
on that dull, gray day, and there were yellow flow- 
ers tucked into each napkin, and she had orange 
cake, and mayonnaise and egg sandwiches to eat 
with our tea, and so the color scheme was quite 
perfect. 

After I had eaten three sandwiches and was 
about to begin on another — I wasn’t very hungry, 
it hadn’t been long since lunch — I spoke. 4 4 Sam,” 
I said, 4 4 don’t you think some one ought to tell 
them it’s raining?” 


258 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


“Not by a good deal!” he answered, as he 
poured himself some fresh tea. “They’ll get on 
to it sometime, all by themselves — ” 

“Miss Sheila’s been sick,” I added. I was a 
little bit worried, but Sam answered that he 
thought the soaking wouldn’t hurt her, and it 
didn’t, and he added the statement that he didn’t 
believe Mr. Wake would be grateful for any in- 
terruption just then. 

Then we were quiet a minute as we watched 
the spluttery little fire leap and die down, and 
then leap all over again. I twisted my new ring as 
I sat there, for it seemed strange — as well as nice 
— to wear it. 

“Think,” I said, I was referring to Miss Sheila 
and Mr. Wake — “how long it can last — 

Sam moved his chair closer. 

“Yes — ” he said, in an undertone, “think of 
it—” 

Then one of the long, French windows opened, 
and the wettest person I have ever seen came in, 
and she was followed by another one. 

“Tea,” said Miss Sheila, “how very nice — ” 
and her voice shook on every single word. 

And then Mr. Wake said, “Ah, yes, tea!” just 
as if he had recently discovered the plant and 
the use for it. 

“Have some,” I said, “and Miss Sheila, you’d 
better go put on one of Mr. Wake’s dressing 


MISCHIEVOUS CUPID 


259 


gowns ; lie has a lavender one that would he beau- 
tiful on you — ” * 

“What wouldn’t f” asked Mr. Wake. 

“If you think she’s pretty now/’ I said, “You 
just wait until she has dried off!” 

“Dear, foolish child,” murmured Miss Sheila 
as she took off her entirely limp hat and ran her 
fingers through her hair which was kinking up in 
funny little curls all over her head. 

Then she sat down on a lounge that stood to 
one side of the fire, and Mr. Wake sat down by 
her, and kept looking at her, and looking at her, 
and looking at her. 

“Children,” said Miss Sheila, “I have a long 
story for you. . . . Once upon a time there were 
two foolish young people who were proud and 
stubborn, and who trusted the mails of Uncle Sam. 
. . . And they quarreled badly; and the man 
wrote but the young lady never got the letter, and 
the young lady — after long months that were filled 
with chastening and pride-shattering heartbreak — 
wrote the young man, but, ah, me, he had changed 
his name — ” 

“Just as you are going to change yours,” said 
Mr. Wake, and Miss Sheila laughed and nodded. 

“And so,” said Miss Sheila, “the fates kept 
them apart, and her hair turned gray — ” 

“And he grew a tummy,” I put in, and Miss 
Sheila laughed again. 


260 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

“And they were both lonely,” said Mr. Wake, 
“so miserably lonely; you were, Sheila?” 

And she said, “Oh, Terry, I — ” and then she 
remembered Sam and me, and stopped. 

“Well?” I questioned. 

“Well,” said Miss Sheila, “one fine day the 
lonely lady who had once been a happy girl grew 
so very lonely that she could not stand still, and 
so she met two nice children at a convent gate, 
and she said, ‘Let’s walk — ’ and they looked at 
each other and smiled — and the way they smiled 
made her more lonely than ever — and they said 
‘Yes,’ and so they all started down a hill — ” 

“And then,” said Mr. Wake, “an old chap 
who had been down to Florence, and had gotten 
his favorite gray suit so wet that he didn’t think 
that it would ever come back to shape, heard the 
tinkle of the bell of his gate and said, ‘The devil,’ 
because he was half way up to the house and 
everything had tried him that day anyway. But 
he turned back, and he opened the gate, and he 
found — heaven !” 

Then I knew that Sam and I should move ! 

“Sam,” I said, “may I see the picture that 
you’re working on now?” 

“Yes,” Sam answered, and we stood up. 

It made us both very happy to leave those two 
dear people whom we loved so well, and who had 
been lonely, there together. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 
HOMEWARD BOUND! 

T HE end of May! And all over again I felt 
the excitement that comes with a journey, 
for I was started for Genoa on the twenty-fifth 
with Miss Meek to see that I got aboard the White 
Star ship safely, and Sam to see that Miss Meek 
and I weren’t bored. 

Miss Bannister had gone to England, and Les- 
lie had gone to join her Mother in Paris where they 
were to buy a trousseau that would be worn on a 
ranch for the benefit of one man and a one-eyed 
Chinese cook who could spit eight feet ! And Viola 
had started out with her Madame Heilbig, who 
had suddenly decided to tour Switzerland and 
some of the Italian cities that are popular in sum- 
mer — the lake and seashore points. Mr. and Mrs. 
Wake had started out in a smart tan motor one 
morning, after a little wedding in the American 
Church — and we didn’t know where they were, and 
Mr. Hemmingway had taken up residence in Mr. 
Wake’s villa. 

In spite of the scattering, however, I had a few 
people to see me off, and to wish me everything 
good. 


261 


262 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


Miss Julianna, who cried, stood by me in the 
station saying that she knew that God and the 
Virgin would see that I was happy because I 
should be, which I thought so kind ; and Mr. Hem- 
mingway, who had come all the way to town, 
stood near with a bouquet that he had picked for 
me, trying so hard to remember when he had first 
seen Genoa — but he couldn’t fasten it. Miss Meek, 
who was to join her Italian family in June, stood 
close with Sam saying, “My eye, how I’ll miss the 
jolly flapper !” And altogether it was warming, 
but it made my throat lump too, the way that 
things that are too warming sometimes do. 

Then the horn sounded, and every one said good- 
by to me, and I kissed them all, including Mr. Hem- 
mingway, who wiped his eyes and blew his nose as 
he said good-by. Then Miss Meek, and Sam and 
I followed our facchino down the platform and 
went through the gates that took us to our train. 
We got a compartment that was rather crowded 
because it had one Englishman in it, and they 
travel with enough scenery for an Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin Company ; but, after he had moved his port- 
able bath and his camp stool and his tea basket, 
there was enough room for us, and we all settled 
and began to have a very nice time. 

My heart ached as we went out of Florence, and 
I couldn’t look back. I loved it so. 

“You’ll be coming back on the run one of these 


HOMEWARD BOUND! 263 

fine days,” said Miss Meek, who seemed to feel all 
I felt. 

“I hope so,” I said. 

“And how could you help it, with your friends 
up the Fiesole way! Mr. Wake told me that you 
were going to visit them out there within a year 
or so. Told me so when he arranged for me to 
take you to Genoa and put you on the boat, don’t 
you know — ” 

“Well, that’s awfully nice,” I said, and Sam 
said he thought so too. 

Then — the flying landscape. 

White oxen dragging creaking carts. . . . Little 
clusters of houses in pastel tones. . . . White 
roads that circled terraced hills and groves of 
olive trees. 

“Of course,” I said, “I want to see my 
people — ” and I did want to, so much that my eyes 
filled as I thought of it. 

“Of course,” said Miss Meek. 

“But it is hard to leave friends, isn’t it!” I 
added. 

And Miss Meek nodded. Sam put his hand 
over mine then, and then Miss Meek seemed to 
drowse. 

The journey was very short. I cannot remem- 
ber a shorter seeming one, though it does take 
over five hours. Baedecker says 4 1 The view of the 
Mediterranean beyond Pisa is sadly marred by 


264? A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

the frequent tunnels.” There are over ninety of 
them; Sam helped me count them. Before I knew 
it we had had our lunch and had settled back again, 
and then we were in the city that is proud of Co- 
lumbus, whose statue stands in one of the public 
squares on the hillsides, and is surrounded with 
tall, spikey, sharp palm trees. 

Out in the bay my ship was moored, and I was 
to go on it that night so that Miss Meek and Sam 
might go back to Florence. I didn’t want to. I 
had to think of mother very hard to keep from 
crying. It is really complicated to love several 
countries and many friends, for it makes so much 
tugging and not a little hurt. 

I said that just before I said good-by. 

Then Sam, who had been coughing quite a little, 
and always before he spoke, asked me if I had 
my tickets, and I said — for the fortieth time any- 
way — that I had, and Miss Meek said, “Look at 
the birds circling around the ship. Jolly, what?” 

“They follow it,” I said. 

“A lot will follow that ship,” said Sam. 

And then Miss Meek kissed me, and Sam said, 
“Look here, dear, if you can kiss Mr. Hemming- 
way, I guess you might take a chance on me?” 

And I said I guessed so, and I kissed him. And 
Miss Meek wiped her eyes, and kept saying, “No 
end jolly, a sea trip, don’t you know?” 

And I said, “Yes,” and I kept my hand in 


HOMEWARD BOUND! 265 

Sam’s, and Sam didn’t say anything. But he did 
look quite a lot of things. 

And then somehow, I was on board, and alone, 
and at last in my stateroom which I was to share 
with an American woman from Florence who was 
going home to visit her mother. 

It was honestly a relief to have the good-bys 
over. And after I took off my hat and coat, and 
had hung up the things from my suitcase in a half 
of the small cupboard, I got out the book that the 
choir had given me before I left. It is a very 
nice book made of puffy leather, and it has “My 
Trip Abroad ’ 9 written across it in gold letters, and 
of course I had written in it, because that was what 
was expected. 

I opened it and read: 

“The Madonna of the Chair is in the Pitti Gallery, 
and it is by Raphael. The Gallery is very big. It took 
Sam and me four hours to go through it.” 

Below this : 

“Sam and I walked to-day, up near Fiesole, and we 
saw the Villa Medici where the Princess Mary and Vis- 
count Lascelles visited Lady Sybil Scott, at the end of 
their honeymoon. It is a lovely place. It seems to be 
so nice that they could be there.” 

Then — over the page — I found a note about the 
Riccardi Palace. 


266 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 


‘ ‘ There is a picture in the chapel of the Riccardi Pal- 
ace/ ’ I had written, “that was painted by candle light 
by a man named Gozzoli, who has been dead for several 
years. It is a fine picture and has lots of gold in it and 
the portraits of the Medicis who lived in the palace. 
Sam and I went down near the Arno and bought buns 
after seeing it, which was very inspiring.’ ’ 

On the next page I had an item about the twins, 
who were better, and a note about the tombs of 
the Medicis and a new tie I had helped Sam to 
buy. I was very glad I kept that record. I knew 
that it would be helpful. After I had looked at it 
until I saw all Florence through it, and Florence 
was beginning to blur and wiggle because of some- 
thing that crept from my heart up into my eyes, I 
went up on deck and looked off toward Genoa 
which lay, in a tangle of many gentle colors, 
against the hill. . . . And I took a long, long look 
at this bit of Italy — the Italy I loved so very much. 

I knew that somewhere that day, my Miss Sheila 
— I still called her that — and Mr. Wake were tour- 
ing along through pretty country; together, after 
the long years apart. 

And I knew that Leslie, and Viola, and Miss 
Bannister and Miss Meek, and Mr. Hemmingway 
were happy. 

And I knew that Sam was miserable. And it 
sounds strange to say, but that helped me as much 
as anything. 

Then I looked at the birds that were flying in 


HOMEWARD BOUND! 


267 


wide arcs around the ship, the birds that followed 
it. . . . And I knew that Sam was right in saying 
that other things would go along with me. . . . 
And I needed them, although I needed, more than 
anything just then, my Mother. . . . And I needed 
her because of Sam Deane, which I can’t explain. 

I fumbled in my pocket, and I found her letter, 
and a little piece of paper that had been torn 
from the edge of a newspaper, on which Sam had 
written. 

‘ ‘ Dear, dear Jane Jones,” and then, all in a 
hurried tangle, “I love you!” (Sam had written 
this while Miss Meek dozed and an Italian officer 
who was smoking outside in the corridor, looked 
in at us) 

For a fraction of a second I felt more miserable 
than I ever had before, and then a warm breeze 
sprung up and it seemed to fan a warm, let down, 
easy feeling into me. And after that I looked down 
in the water, and in it I saw the front door of our 
house, and the porch which slants toward the steps, 
and my own Mother in the doorway, smiling and 
trying not to cry and Roberta back of her. . . . 
And the twins jumping up and down by the gate, 
and shrilly screaming, “Mother, she’s here! 
She’s here, Mother!” 

And then I felt myself get out of Daddy’s flivver 
and hurry up the walk. And I saw every one hug- 
ging and kissing me, and every one crying. . . . 


268 A MODERN TRIO IN AN OLD TOWN 

I saw this, before it ever happened, just as it really 
was to be ! 

But I didn’t see the table as it was — which I 
knew would have on it all the things I liked best to 
eat — for I didn’t forecast the hothouse roses; 
I never dreamed that Roberta would blow her al- 
lowance on these when she could have picked them 
right out in the garden ! But it was all wonderful ! 
Nor did I see the banner that the twins had made 
that had 


WELCTJM 

painted on it with shoe blackening — they had each 
ruined a dress through this — nor did I dream that 
Elaine McDonald would send me an angel cake ! 

But everything was nicer than I could imagine it 
would be ! 

I wondered, as I thought of my people and get- 
ting home, whether any other girl was as lucky 
as I, and I decided that none could be. And real- 
izing how happy I was made me feel a little sad ; 
humble, and uncomfortably grateful, so I forgot 
it as soon as I could and tried to feel natural. 

And Sam’s smile — which I was to see a whole 
lot and which seemed to belong with the things I 
loved — and my people, helped me to do this. 

THE END 

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